The True Distortion
by twostrandsofmelody
Summary: What if when Christine returned the ring, she admitted her love for her Phantom? What if he told her where he hid? PotO mixed with LND, glimmers of Leroux. Dark, angst, passion. E/C
1. Chapter 1

"Please Raoul, wait." Christine said as he was pushing the boat from the coast.

"What is it Christine?" He asked tenderly, looking at her like she was a wounded animal.

"I must return this to him." She idly toyed with the ring on her finger.

"It is a ring, he will not miss it." He retorted, reaching out to touch her face.

Christine pulled away from his touch shaking her head. "No, I must return this to him. If I keep it, I will never be able to let him go."

"Give it to me and I'll make it disappear."

"No Raoul," She gasped, covering the ring. "I must return it to him. Wait here, I'll be back."

"Christine," He grabbed her hand, "We must hurry, before the mob finds their way here."

"Please Raoul," Christine begged, kissing Raoul on the lips. "I'll will be only a moment."

"Any longer and I will come to find you."

Christine nodded, making her way back into the lair, searching for Erik. "Mon ange étrange?" She called as she heard the sound of his music box playing in a distant region of the lair.

"Christine," His voice rasped, thickened by the tears and emotions. "I love you."

She trembled at his words, sliding the ring from her finger. She extended her hand towards him, holding the ring out. How could she leave him like this? She loved him. After everything that had happened, her heart still ached for him and him alone.

"My Angle." Her voice cracked as she sank to her knees before him. Her time with him was growing short, Raoul would come if she did not make this fast. "Mon amour."

"L'amour?"

"Oui." She said softly, wiping a tear from her cheek. "You are the one I love." She pressed her palm against his chest, above his heart – her heart.

"He can give you the life I never can." His words were honest and true. He loved her enough to let her go.

"But he will never have the love that you have from me." She cupped his cheek in her small hand, pressing her lips against his. Raoul's kiss never made her feel like she could take flight and soar away from it all. He returned the kiss, cupping his hand behind her head.

"Go, mon amour." He begged, breaking the kiss with a gasp. The mob sounded closer than before. "Go now, before they find you here."

"I cannot leave you!" Christine grabbed his hand, holding him there.

"There is an abandoned house near Notre Dame, you will find me there." He pulled her to him, kissing her with a fierce passion.

"Christine?" Raoul called.

"Go." Erik urged, giving her a loving smile.

"I will find you." Christine proclaimed, as she ran away to find Raoul.

Erik broke through his mirror, a hidden passage way that lead into the sewers of Paris that would take him to his hide out. He didn't not leave a broken man, he left with a reassurance that his love was not in vain.

"I found him, Raoul." Christine said, finding her fiancée. "Let's go before the mob get's any closer."

"I was worried had taken you."

"He would never force me to go anywhere. My lessons with him were of my own choosing." She corrected as she climbed into the boat with Raoul.

"Whatever you say," He replied sceptically, pushing them from the coast and navigating the boat thru the grotto.

Christine smiled, knowing that she had not seen the last of her strange angel. She may have found his true distortion within, but she knew that if she loved him in return he would change. He was a man who had been abused and unloved for so many years that he acted out in unspeakable ways because he feared losing Christine. If she could get away from Raoul and find him, everything could change.

~o~

Raoul had brought her home with him to the de Changy Manor, not wanting her out of his immediate sight. He had ordered his servants to make their dinner. Christine was too anxious about sneaking from the Manor later that evening to even try to eat. She lied to Raoul, passing off her nervous stomach as fatigue from the day's events. Despite her protests with wanting to go and rest, he requested that she stay until he had finished eating so he could spend more time with her.

She retired to her room as soon as he would permit her. Christine told him that by morning she would feel significantly better and be as ravenous and as a wolf and much more agreeable.

Once the Manor fell silent, she left the comforts of her bed to open the window of her room. It was not as high above the city as she thought that it would be. She could still smell the smoke of the burning Opera Populaire, clinging to Paris' night air. "I am coming mon amour."

Christine examined the balcony, before gracefully swinging one leg and then the other over it. She carefully climbed down the stones, careful not to lose her footing or her grip. Thank all of her years of ballet for producing strong legs.

She stealthily made her way through the gardens of the Manor, listening for any sounds of servants or dogs. Finding none, she was able to slip through the gates unnoticed. She knew where Notre Dame was, but not where it was in relation to the de Changy Manor.

But she would find her love.

**A/N: Oh gosh. Is it bad? It started out good but I think it went bad. I don't want Christine to be too Mary-Sueish, but I just wanted to get her away from the de Changy Manor in this chapter and I just sort of skimmed. My worst writing fault and why I'll never be able to write a whole book. :-/ Well, tell me how bad or how good or whatever! I want to know. **


	2. Chapter 2

The abandoned house was derelict and gave a distinct appearance that it was not very habitable. It was the only house near Notre Dame that looked anywhere near dilapidated, it had to be the house he strange angel had spoke of. Hesitantly Christine approached the house, looking around the street for anyone that could see her entering the building. She stood out on the dark street, her glowing white nightgown. What would he think of her showing up here in such little clothes on after wandering the dangerous streets in search of him?

Christine knocked on the door with sure hits, looking over her shoulder again wary of anyone seeing her. She heard a scuttle of noise behind the door, the door opened a crack.

"Who goes there?"

"Madame Giry?" Christine asked with wide eyes.

"Child, what are you-" Madame Giry threw the door open and pulled Christine in. "I thought de Changy was taking you home?"

"He did but.." Christine looked around the parlour of the once grand house, "Where is he?"

"Who?"

"Do not play me for a fool Madame Giry, I would not have known who was in this house with being told. By him." Christine strained to see around the dark parlour, small flames illuminated the side rooms, the flickering light reflecting on mirrors.

"He is no-"

"Christine." Erik's voice cut off Madame Giry's sentence, he appeared on the flight of stairs – soundless as he strode down the steps. His mask was the only part of his figure that could be seen in the shadowy house.

"Mon ange." Christine breathed, unable to believe that he was really there. In her mind she had imagined him fleeing far away, never to see him again.

"S'il vous plait, I am no angel. Erik. That is my name."

"Erik." Christine said, trying to test the name in her mouth. Strangely, it suited him.

"Antoinette, would you care to excuse the two of us?"

Christine looked at the ballet mistress, seeing her look between the two of them. "Of course."

"Come, Christine." Erik said slowly, extending his dark, leather clad hand towards Christine. She placed her hand in his, just like the first time she went through the mirror with him. It fit.

Erik led her slowly up the stairs, which were surprisingly sturdier than she thought they would be. Christine felt her heartbeat speed up as they made it to the top floor of the house, she felt secluded from Madame Giry below and completely alone with her strange angel _Erik_.

He led her into one of the rooms, his room. His dark figure loomed in the dimly lit room a shocking comparison to Christine's white figure that glowed in the pale illumination. "I am glad that you came," Erik said as he took a candle in his hand and lit several others.

"I was worried about you, even though you said you'd be fine."

Erik glanced over his shoulder at her, still in disbelief that she really came. "You managed to escape the fop?"

"I had to climb from my bedroom window." Christine tried to wipe the starry-eyed look from her face as she marvelled at the elegant man in front of her. "I am sure he has found me gone by now and is alerting gendarmes to search for me."

Erik laughed suddenly, breaking the quite atmosphere of the room. He removed his cape from his shoulders, carelessly tossing it onto the chaise lounge. Christine stared, unsure of what to say. Her heart was beating rapidly in her chest and she was certain he should be able to hear it by now.

Erik turned towards her, reaching his hand out again for her. Her small, delicate hand reached for the gloved hand. She didn't want that between them, she wanted to touch his skin. To touch him. No! She pushed that thought away from her mind that was not what she was like. No matter how intoxicating and alluring he was she would not turn to that. Not yet.

"You do not need hide yourself from me," Christine said softly, reaching up to touch his porcelain mask. "It is dark. If you still fear me seeing it."

Erik gave a grimaced smile, his thin lip drawn up in a sort of smile. He had warily had anything to smile about in his life. "While I remove the mask, please blow out the candles."

Christine gulped, shuddering at the order but obeying nevertheless. With two little puffs of air the room fell in to darkness, a sliver of silver light snuck through a crack in the boarded windows. Christine's eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, she could no longer see the stark white mask on his looming figure.

Erik hesitated to approach her; afraid she might change her mind and want to go back to the manor. He had told her then that he could not offer her anything but himself, and even then he was not a whole man. Would he ever be able to please her like he desired?

"Erik," His name came out quiet and angelic, like the way you would pray with utmost devotion.

"I am still here." Erik replied as he reached out to touch her shoulder, his fingers sliding up the curve of her neck towards her cheek. Christine's eyes flew closed as she enjoyed the touch of his bare fingers. Those elegant musician's fingers that always mesmerized her with their agility and accuracy.

Cautiously she reached out in the darkness, aware that he was only a step or so away from her and afraid to touch his cheek without his permission. He had let her touch him mere hours ago, but things could have changed. They were no longer desperate and short on time; they had as long as they wanted.

"You won't leave me again will you?" Christine murmured as she decided to rest her hand on his shoulder. She just needed to touch him and know that he was really there and that she was not imagining his touch on her cheek.

"Not if I have anything to say about it." Erik's breath was closer to her face now. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, bringing her body and senses to life while diming her common sense. Somehow she had always pictured him cold, much like how he used to be around her.

"Good." Christine replied, at a loss for words. He had rendered her senseless.

Erik leaned in, wanting to taste those full and willing lips of hers. His inexperience made him desperate and crazed for the sensation again. She could reject him. Throwing caution to the wind he pressed his thin, misshapen lips into hers. He still expected the worst and was shocked when she threw her arms around his broad shoulders and pressed up into the kiss instantly. One hand cupped her soft cheek and the other rested at the curve of waist just above her well made dancer hip.

Christine was surprised at her own passion that flowed into the kiss. Erik was a passionate man, the intensity of it scared her at times but suddenly she was returning it with equal fervour. She hardly tensed when she felt his hand sliding along the material of her nightgown. She shivered when his fingers brushed the underside of her bosom, turning her blood even hotter. Raoul had done the very same once, but it had made her tense and push away. Erik's touch made her lean into it and crave more.

Her small hands fumbled to push off his black waistcoat, wanting to have his skin closer to her fingertips. She wanted to set his soul on fire like his touch was doing to her. She smiled into their kiss as she felt him shrug his shoulders to the let the waistcoat fall to the floor with a startling thud in the quiet room.

They both broke this kiss, hearts pounding and chests heaving. "We can't." They both spoke at the same time.

"I'm not ready." Christine admitted shyly.

"You won't leave will you?" Erik asked, reaching for his waistcoat and pulling it on again.

"Of course not!" Christine nearly shouted, panicking that he thought she was disgusted by him. "I wish we hadn't stopped, but it's for the best." Christine reached towards him, touching his perfect cheek. "For now."

"For now." Erik replied, covering her hand with his. That's all he needed to know. She wanted to be with him and not the fop.


	3. Chapter 3

Christine sat awkwardly in Meg's room; it was no different than the shabby and abandoned room Erik had been in. But there was an unusual air between them that had never been there before tonight. Tonight had changed so many relationships. Christine realised her love for her masked tutor and her childish love for her childhood sweetheart. But, she had also realised that Meg was the reason that Erik had nearly been killed by the mob.

Meg seemed be ignoring the stiffness as she sat in front of the broken mirror of the vanity, brushing her golden locks and talking up a storm. Trivial things that meant nothing to this new life they would have to live. There was no going back to the Opera House, it was destroyed in the fire – just like their lives as chorus girls had been destroyed in one evening.

"How do you think Carlotta reacted to this evening? I mean it must have made her envious to see up shining on stage."

Christine looked up at Meg, Raoul had mentioned that Pagini had died in the fire. "I'm sure she was jealous."

"Christine why are you in such low spirits?" Meg laid her hair brush down on the vanity. The evening had left its mark on her mentality. The stress of it all had made her retreat back to how it would have been if nothing had happened.

"Meg, you behave as if nothing has happened. We have no jobs, I have left my fiancée, and Erik's very life is at risk."

Meg tilted her head, "He let you know his name?"

Christine shifted on the bed nervously; she reached for a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Yes Meg, my strange angel has revealed that he is mere mortal."

"Oh Christine!" Meg sat herself down on the bed beside Christine, taking her hands in her own. "Mother said that you came here for one reason. She says that he expected you tonight, if you had not come to your senses."

"Come to my senses?" Christine covered her mouth for a moment as she realised what Meg meant, "Does he believe I came here not knowing my mind?"

"Mother would not let me know anymore, she says that his business is not mine." Meg bit her lip, glancing towards the floorboards, "What did he say when you were with him?"

"Nothing really, we only spoke briefly." Her tongue ran along her lip, remembering the feel of his lips against hers, "He wanted to be sure I knew what I was condemning myself to."

"You're certain you want to leave Raoul?"

Christine closed her eyes, comparing the two men in her mind. Raoul did not make her feel anywhere close to what Erik did and she could not picture them entering into a passionate embrace. Erik made her want to lose every inhibition and throw caution and sense to the wind and let the Don Juan passion bloom. "I would not be here if I wasn't certain."

"Oh Christine, I am happy for you. I want you to be happy." Meg squeezed her hand, "You and I will be here together, just like at the Opera House."

Christine glanced up at the ceiling; Erik's room was just above Meg's bedroom. If they stayed here very long, would that be her room to? Coming here could have been a terrible mistake, but after her few minutes with Erik she knew it was right. It felt right. Kissing Raoul had been more out of duty than out of passion, it felt like kissing her brother, had she been given one.

Erik, her phantom angel, was passionate and elegant. If you cut him he would bleed the lyrics that he wrote. His fire was every part of his being and it consumed her whole. The Bible said that angels were no ethereal beings, but creatures of fear. They were no one animal or being but many, with many faces and many limbs. They were of fire and power.

"I love him." Christine admitted, turning to look at Meg with sad eyes.

~o~

"Why did you tell her to come here? You are risking your safety, _our_ safety." Madame Giry turned to glare at her old friend who was sitting in a once regal chair, which was now left to peel and deteriorate.

"What was I to do? Tell her I loved her and say we would never meet again?"

"Yes."

"It would not do for me. She spoke the three words I have waited a lifetime to hear." Erik's voice was slow and deliberate, every word was well spoken and meaningful.

"She did not say it out of fear?"

"Antoinette, she returned to me after they had left. She returned to admit that she loved me. She left the fop and came here to me." Erik let his finger slide across his lips, remembering the simple joy of feeling her kiss. No force was used, no threats, nothing that made her kiss him.

"I do not believe she is healthy for you. Ever since you began to work with her you have become solely focused on her. Everything you do seems to be for the purpose of pleasing her. Where has the fierce Opera Ghost gone?"

"He is still very here, a fact that you should keep at the forefront of that devious mind of yours." Erik rose majestically from the seat, he moved like a great feline predator – constantly on the prowl. "You preached so heavily to those foolish girls to keep their hands at the level of their eyes. But you tend to forget how sneaky my _magical lasso_ can be."

"You wouldn't dare." She snapped, never letting her eyes leave him as he strode across the room to examine the book case.

"I dare to do many things that would surprise you." Erik picked up a book, idly flipping through its pages. "Tonight I could have dared to take Christine as mine, insuring that the foolish fop would never have that satisfaction. But I did not, I refrained myself. I withheld that foreign pleasure from myself. My self control may be strong, but it tends to slip when someone irritates me."

Madame Giry looked over her shoulder again, seeing that Erik had soundlessly slipped from the room, the light groan of the stairs indicating where he fled to.

After everything she had done for him, she expected him to be appreciative. Her whole life had been devoted to him after she'd brought him to the Opera Populaire. If anything he could have repaid her by caring more about Meg's career. But instead he befriended a Danish musician and became obsessed with the man's orphaned daughter.

Christine Daae did not deserve all of the attention. She was plain and average, but she had two men fighting over her when Meg could hardly sell herself for someone else's pleasure.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: In my opinion Antoinette's whole life has been devoted to the Phantom, I also like to bring in glimmers of the character that she is in LND. She's much more hostile about her life she's given up for his sake. Madame Giry is actually one of my favourite characters. Really, because she has motives and way that she can ruin things. She's a fully alive character.**

**Any ways I'm off my soap box, on with the show!**

**~o~**

Christine hardly any comfort in sleep that evening, her every thought was on Erik. Would she even see him at all today? She'd never seen him in the mornings only the evenings. He was a creature of the night, forced into the darkness only because of his face. Perhaps he slept the days away and only awoke for the nights.

Christine rose early, slipping her shoes on and leaving the bedroom. She couldn't stand to lie in bed if she wasn't sleeping; she was too restless to stay still for long. As she walked across the room, she noticed, lying on the small chair in the corner, a red rose. With nimble fingers she picked it up, looking to see the note that was attached.

"My dear Christine, sleep well tonight."

Smiling, she slipped from the room and closing the door quietly in her wake. Taking a few hesitant steps across the creaking floor boards she made her way towards the staircase.

"Where are you going?"

Christine jerked around to see Madame Giry standing in the doorway where she had just been. "I am sorry, Madame, I was only meaning to go and vis-"

"He is away currently."

"Where has he gone?"

Madame Giry beckoned her to come away from the chairs, "Our friend returned to the Opera Populaire this morning to see what he can recover from the destruction."

Christine stared for a moment, "Will he be safe? I am sure there are gendarmes and people putting out the remnants of the fire."

"Of course he is not safe. Ever since you arrived his safety has been at risk."

Christine bit her lip, turning away from Madame Giry's piercing glare. "I do not mean him any harm, Madame Giry. I only want what is best for him."

Madame Giry stared at her for a long moment before breaking the trance, "Are you hungry child?"

Christine nodded slowly, following Madame Giry through the house to the kitchen. Madame Giry no longer seemed to be supportive of her, something had changed. Just another part of life that had changed after last night. Nothing would ever be the same again.

~o~

The music box. His first belonging that was truly his. A silly little monkey bashing symbols together before playing a beautiful haunting melody. They had not dare to destroy it or take it. Unlike his lair that lay in utter destruction, they had left something beautiful in its wake. Erik wound the little key, letting the melody fill the ruined room.

"Paper faces on parade, masquerade." Erik sang as he looked around his world. This had been his home, his world, his place of musical freedom. Now everywhere he looked his saw broken furniture and broken mirrors. His reflected showed his face distorted far worse than he knew it looked, if it was possible.

This was the place where he had tutored Christine, the place where he fell in love with her petite frame, gentle spirit, and tender heart. This was the world that had captured her soul and bound her to him by with the bars of their music.

Her dress from Don Juan lay in tatters on the floor. The mob had taken it in their duty to destroy everything that was good in his life. Or so they believed.

Erik couldn't understand why she had chosen his poor, disfigured and aged self over the Count's youthful beauty and wealth. Had he spun some spell that blurred her common sense? Would it fade in time and make her realise she had made a grave mistake in choosing him?

He had heard whispers on the streets that the Count de Chagny was searching for his fiancée that had been stolen from her bed in the middle of the night. Kidnapped, they said, by the Phantom of the Opera. How could they believe she had chosen him on her own accord? Especially after half of the populace of Paris had seen his disfigured face on stage as a spectacle of amusement, just like he had been as a child. The wealthy and common person's laughing stock.

No one would ever believe that a creature of Hell could be loved by an angel.

~o~

It was nightfall before Erik returned to the derelict hide away. Christine had worried herself all day, hardly able to find somewhere to light herself for a few moments. She had wandered around the house all day, praying for God to keep Erik safe and talking quietly to her father. It was a time like this where she needed his guidance and his music.

Music.

Was that the faint sound of music coming from upstairs?

Christine stepped lightly towards the stairs, afraid that Madame Giry would halt her again. "Erik?" She called softly as she crept up the staircase.

"Christine." Madame Giry scolded, appearing in the doorframe just like before. "What are you doing?"

"Let her come." Erik's voice echoed from up the staircase, making Christine smile. Following the sound of the music she found herself returning to his dark realm.

"Erik?" She asked, looking around in the darkness for him. A candle suddenly burst into life, shedding light in the room.

"Christine," He said quietly as she placed her hand on his shoulder. He turned his head to look at her.

"I was worried that something would befall you. I was afraid that gendarmes would still be swarming the Opera House and they would kill you."

"You were worried about me?" He questioned, unable to fathom that such an angel would care about his demonic form. It could take three lifetimes before he would ever be able to believe he was worthy of any happiness.

Christine smiled, reaching up to his unmarred cheek, the other was porcelain white and covered by his mask. "Of course I worried about you. Madame Giry did not seem worried, she seemed to believe that you would have been fine. But, not even you would be a match for thirty gendarmes."

Erik laughed coldly, "I am glad to see you have such faith in me."

"I did not mea-"

Erik placed a finger over her lips to silence her, "I know what you meant." He was tempted to kiss her again, but decided that now was not the time. "Your handsome fiancée has told every gendarme in the city that I am the one who kidnapped you in the midst of the night."

"Oh." Christine's eyes opened wide with shock, "You do not think they will find us here?"

"No. Madame Giry and I discussed that we may be moving to another location soon." Erik bit his leather glove off, tossing it carelessly to the side and took her hand in his. "You are sure that you wish to stay? I can return you to the foppish Count, unharmed and untouched."

"I do not want him."

"Christine, you do not understand that in comparison to your pure, unadulterated youth that I am an ancient and foul letch."

"There is nothing foul or ancient about you. Nor are you a letch." Christine said quietly, bringing his hand to her lips and brushing them against his knuckles.

"I am old enough to be your father." Erik muttered the words like they pained him to say. "You are barely eighteen and I am only ten years younger than Antoinette."

"You are thirty-eight?" Christine asked hesitantly, "That is hardly an ancient letch." She chuckled at the thought. "You are handsome to me."

"What you imagine of me is handsome. You picture a handsome man to match my voice."

"I picture you to match your voice. No other man could fit you."

Erik caught her lips in a kiss, forgetting that he had his mask on. "I am sorry." The words rushed from his lips as he pulled away.

Christine covered her lips, pulling her fingers away to reveal a tiny smear of blood. The sharp corner of his mask had left a cut across the skin above her lip. "I am fine."

"I should not have kissed you like that." Erik turned away and busied himself with lighting candles. "I have hurt you now."

"I would rather be hurt by you then have unwanted love from another." Christine stood beside him, reaching her hand out for his mask. "May I?"

"If you must." Erik gritted, waving his hand in front of the candles he had just lit to put them out.

"I want to see you in the light."

"No, Christine." Erik moved his hand to cover the mask, "You do not want to see it."

"What if one day we," Christine laughed at the thought. It had almost happened last night so she couldn't understand why she was so shy at the thought now.

"Christine," Erik turned to her, placing his hands on either of her shoulders. His breath shook, "You should go."

"Erik?"

"You speak of a night that will not be anytime soon." Erik spoke slowly, that enchanting tone in his voice that could make anyone do as he ordered. If that night ever happened he wished he could shield her eyes from his ugliness, his wretched body but let himself admire every part of her beautiful form.

"You do not believe that I could love you." Christine spoke as she stepped towards the door, "As handsome as Raoul was he never lit the fire within me. Not the fire you stir with just the thought of you."


	5. Chapter 5

"What is wrong with your lip, Christine?" Meg questioned the three women sat down for dinner at the small table.

Christine touched the cut self-consciously, "I, I um." She laughed in the absence of an answer. "I don't really know."

Erik appeared in the door way suddenly, making Christine drop her spoon with a clatter. Madame Giry glared at Christine, shaking her head. "Sit, Erik there is your seat." She motioned to the opposing end of the table. The head of the table. "Your dinner is getting cold."

"Thank you Antoinette," He replied stiffly, sitting down at the table. Christine's eyes never left his form, watching as he sat down to the right of her. Their eyes met, exchanging a silent greeting. Meg might have been oblivious to their quiet relationship, but Madame Giry was fully aware.

"How did you find the Populaire?" Madame Giry questioned, making some conversation at the silent table.

"The chandelier accomplished what I had planned. The upper levels of the Opera House are nearly destroyed it would taking years for it to be repaired to its former glory. The lower levels are ruined only by the touch of mortal hands."

Christine licked at her dry lips. She wasn't hungry at all, but she didn't want to anger Madame Giry who already seemed bitter to her presence. She wished she could be oblivious like Meg, unaware of her surroundings and peoples' subtle hints. She looked up from the soup again, giving Erik a soft smile.

"Are you well Christine?" Erik questioned with a loving warmth in his voice. In the brightly lit room he could see the puckered skin where he had carelessly hurt his angel.

"Don't worry about me Erik," Christine reached towards him, letting her hand rest on his forearm. "As long as I am here, I couldn't be better."

Madame Giry coughed, clearing her throat and interrupting the tender moment. "Meg could you go and fetch the soup in the kitchen?"

"Yes, Mum." Meg rose from the table quickly and left the room, with a hesitant look backwards.

"Antoinette Giry, I am tiring with your attitude," Erik glared across the table at his old friend. "You have controlled no aspect of my life to this day. You may have believed the illusion that you had some control over the monster that you brought to the Opera House, but in reality it was I who controlled you. I was a force left alone to become who I am today."

"Erik I have cared for you since the day that I brought you to the Populaire, I expect only gratitude from you and nothing more."

"Feeding me and visiting is not care. Care is loving devotion and comfort."

"Excuse me," Christine started to rise but Erik caught her arm, shaking his head.

"No stay."

"It is not my place to be here for this conversation." She met his eyes, unable to ignore the desperation in his eyes begging her to stay. "Alright."

"Thank you," Erik replied, turning his attention back to Madame Giry. "Speak, I am sure you have plenty to say."

"You claim that she stays on her own accord, but you have to practically force her to stay here now."

Christine laughed, "Madame Giry, if I may speak. I do not want to stay here during this conversation, but I came here to be with him. I am sure many would wonder why a disfigured murderer and not my handsome childhood sweetheart." Christine stared at the soup in front of her, she diffidently was not hungry now. "I do not have any answer other than love."

"Did his music sweep you off the very feet of your soul?"

"Yes." Christine looked stared at her in confusion.

"Did his voice mesmerize you?"

"Yes."

"Did his lyrics flood you with passion?"

"Enough!" Erik roared, pushing himself from the table and rising to his feet. "Enough with your endless prattle Antoinette."

"I only mean to let her know of the wondrous things that your music can do." Her voice was cold and lifeless as she spoke, staring at Erik with a smirk. "If you have brought her here with your beguiling ways, forsaking a happy life with the Count de Chagny I thought she had the right to know."

Christine looked between the two, "Stop this. I know _myself_. I know _my_ thoughts. I know how _I_ feel." Her lips trembled as she stood, "I am not a child anymore."

"Christine," He said softly lifting his hand towards her, she flinched away staring at him. "Don't let her upset you. I find that she has grown bitter and intolerable in her old age.

Antoinette barked a laugh, "You are only a few years behind me. You have grown reclusive and violent in your _old age_."

"I just want to be happy," Christine muttered, stepping away from the table. Before Erik could catch her she tore out of the room, running up the stairs in a clatter of creaking boards.

"I grow tired of your meddling Giry." Erik growled, "You warn so many of the wrath of the Phantom, and yet you ignore it blindly." With a cold bow Erik followed after Christine with a sweep of his cape.

Erik found her sitting in his room, her knees were curled to her chest and her face was buried in her arms. Her thick curly locks were flowing around her shoulders. Erik hesitated, hearing her muffled cries. He was useless in the art of comforting. He had never known it or learned it from anyone. Compassion was as foreign as a gentle touch to him.

"Christine," He crouched in front of her, unsure of what to say or do. "Christine."

"No compassion anywhere." She muttered, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Those were the harsh words he sang to her when he had jerked her so harshly down the stair case into his labyrinth. A lifetime ago. A mere evening ago.

"You are compassionate," Erik said slowly, recalling the look in her eyes when she revealed his distortion for everyone to see. But only she had seen the true distortion, where it lied where no one could see. She had looked into his eyes with love, of course she had looked into his eyes many times – but that was when he was masked. That time she saw his true face, but she still looked at him with pure adoration.

"They will never stop." She sobbed, her voice strangled by the tears that choked her.

Erik stared, he didn't know how to silence tears. What to say, how to act. He had never learned true human emotions like others did. He only learned anger, hate, passion, torture and killing. None of those were the way to soothe is crying angel. "Angel's don't weep. Please, don't cry," he spoke as softly as he could by looping the words together to sound like song.

"I am tired of being told how to feel. I know my own mind." Christine gulped, trying to catch her breath. She raised her head slowly, wiping away the tears on her from her cheeks.

Erik shushed her, moving to wrap his arms around her petite frame. "Please don't cry."

"Everyone is always telling me what to do and how to feel. I just want to be here with you. The only thing you ever asked of me was to sing for you. You never told me to love you." Christine clung to him, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

"Christine, I don't know what to say to calm you. That's not the man I am. I can't not say the words that Raoul could." Erik remembered all to clear the betrayal he felt when he saw Christine on the rooftop with the fop. The words she sang were words he never thought he would hear.

"Just hold me," She whispered, her tears wetting his skin. "Just love me."

"I can do that." Erik curled his arms around her, pulling her close to his chest. "I love you." He pressed his face into her hair, breathing in the sweet smell of her. "I love you."


	6. Chapter 6

It amazed Erik how a simple embrace could comfort someone more than any gentle words or sweet refrain. Christine clung to him even in her exhaustion induced sleep. He sat there on the floor, cradling her in his arms like she was an infant. He sang a soft lullaby to him, one that he remembered hearing her father sing to her the night that he left her at the Opera House.

"Now the sun has gone to bed. Outside, night lies in wait. We must sleep now. We must rest our body. Because tomorrow we must get up." Erik reached behind his head, loosening the tie that held his mask on, removing it and laying it beside him. It was chaffing against his cheek every time he sang. "The calmness of night is descending. All becomes calm, all breathes peace. We must sleep now. We must rest our body, but tomorrow we will get up."

Christine shifted in his arms, moving to burrow her face deeper into his shirt, inhaling his spicy exotic smell that was distinctly him. He smelled of music.

"To a lovely day with music, friends, play and some sweets. We must sleep now, we must rest our body. Now the moon has risen."

"Erik," She murmured, her voice slow and hushed. His eyes darted between her and his mask, but he found she spoke no more. She was still fast asleep in his arms. Erik pressed a kiss into her hair, rocking her body gently. She was light in his arms, the feeling of her warm soft flesh in his arms warmed his heart more than her kisses. He never pictured anyone, willingly, sleeping in his arms.

With her, his once empty life now felt full and complete. Where music was once his life, Christine had replaced it.

"Mon ange, Christine." He whispered, brushing her lips against her cheek. Christine turned her head at his touch. She was not as asleep as he thought she had been. Christine's lips found his, kissing him slowly and softly.

His hand reached for his mask, trying to replace it before her eyes opened. But he was too late. The second his hand moved her eyes flew open. His lips pulled away from hers in panic. "Christine-"

Christine placed her hand against his cheek, the cheek that he was terrified of her seeing. "Don't." His face was so close to hers that in the dim light she could barely see anymore than misshapen flesh, but her memories filled in the blanks.

Taking his cheeks in her hands she leaned up to press her lips against his. His lips were stone still, but her soft delicate lips began to warm his. He was hungry for the touch of her lips. His tongue begged for permission against her lips and teeth. Christine obliged to the request, letting their lips and tongues battle passionately against each other.

Erik groaned as he pulled away, "Please don't. I am weak in your presence." Erik ran his hands over her arms as she sat up in his lap. When she ignored his protest he brought both of them to their feet. "Please, Christine."

Christine bit her lip as she looked up at him, "Why?"

"Because, I don't want anyone to think I have taken you as some sort of power play against the fop."

"But I want to."

Erik laughed throatily; reaching down for his mask and putting it back on. "Then you can wait."

"Stop," Christine reached up to brush his hands away from his cheek, keeping him from putting the mask on.

"Christine," He warned, trying to keep the aggravation from being so noticeable in his voice.

"I'm sorry," Christine said with a deep breath, the cloudy intoxication ebbing from her mind. "I lose myself around you."

"Isn't that contradictory to what you keep saying?" Erik pointed out as he tied the lace behind his head.

Christine opened and then closed her mouth, lost for words. "I thought your mask did not have ties."

"That mask was destroyed and I do not have salve to use. This one will do for now, I brought my other masks back from the Opera House."

"They did not destroy them?"

"Or my music box." Erik motioned in the darkness towards the little monkey music box. "They burned my music, my stage model, my painting of you, they broke every mirror and destroyed the swan bed."

Christine gasped, "I am sorry."

"It is not your fault," Erik shrugged, trying to take full sturdy breaths.

"Yes it is. If I had never been afraid and childish." Christine suddenly wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him into a hug. "That was your home and I ruined it."

"You made my home complete." Erik murmured, unsure how to respond to her embrace. "You make my home complete." He pulled away from her, reaching in his breast pocket and revealing the ring. "I'm not forcing you this time."

Christine stared at the ring, knowing exactly what he was saying. The first time he had forced it upon her hand she was scared and foolishly entranced by Raoul, worried for his sake. Erik had been cold and cruel, shouting at her and hurting her. But she had hurt him.

"I'm sorry." Erik mumbled, taking her silence negatively.

"No." Christine grabbed his hand before he could put it back in his coat. Her breath caught in her throat, "I want it."

"You do?"

"I want you." Christine looked over her shoulder at the closed door, "Will Madame Giry approve? I fear she may make me leave."

"Then we will leave together." Erik cupped her cheek, before taking her hand and slipping it onto her finger. "Until we can leave Paris and make our own life somewhere far away where no one will ever care about the beauty and her beast."

"We don't need anyone's approval to be happy, Erik." Christine rose on her skilled toes, to kiss his lips. "Must we wait until we find that mythical place?"

"Perhaps not that long," Erik laughed and kissed her forehead. "I don't think I could wait forever."


	7. Chapter 7

Christine rose early again the next day, sleep was impossible with so much going on inside her head. She wanted to sing again, to let out all of the frustration in the one way she had always been sure to rely on. Her lessons with her mask maestro had always been the one thing she could not wait for each day. Dinner with Raoul had been exciting, but having her vocal lesson had been her one constant thrill in her life.

Slipping from the bedroom she sought to find the library and see what books had been deserted in the house. Whoever had lived there had left in such a hurry, or had died. She took light steps towards the closed door of the library, ever worried that Madame Giry would appear behind her with disapproving eyes. She slipped through the slightly cracked door, barely opening it to avoid any creaking hinges.

She didn't notice that she wasn't alone in the room. Busying herself with looking through the shelves full of books, moving from here to there, and blowing the dust away from the untouched books. Christine jerked around when she heard someone chuckling.

She covered her mouth to hold back the scream that was aching to be released. Her heart was thudding in her chest. "Erik." She hissed glaring at the laughing masked man. "You nearly sent me into a fit!"

"I did not hide myself; you just did not see me."

"Still." Christine's brows knit together as she stared at him. "You scared me."

Erik looked away at her words; his lips were pulled straight and lacking emotion. He wore his full mask, concealing both sides of his face and making his expression completely unreadable.

"I didn't mean it like that Erik." Christine bit her lip, realising her error. "You do not scare, anyone could have frightened me."

"Of course," Erik waved his hand, pushing aside the invisible conversation. "But I have frightened you in the past. I could frighten you again." His last sentence had a threatening tone to it.

"I don't understand." Christine turned her back to him, placing the book in her hand back to its spot on the shelf. Half the time she could understand him and his logic, the other half was like a foreign language that consisted of shapes and symbols.

"I read about love and romance and I start to doubt my capabilities." Erik replied slowly, his fingers tightening their hold on the book in his hands.

"I cannot imagine you incapable of anything."

"I was incapable of having the words to say to calm you last night."

Christine let out a frustrated sigh, "And yet you calmed me."

"I am useless at sentimental words."

"Your words are all I want to hear."

Erik slammed the book he had been reading shut, making her jump. "Christine, this distorted face is far from the only depravity I suffer from. I do not think you can ever, fully, comprehend it."

"But I am willing to listen." Christine replied, moving towards him in short strides and leaning against the arm of his chair. "If you are willing to tell me."

"Christine," Erik's eyes flickered across her face taking in her angelic appearance. "Why is it that you chose me and not the handsome fop?"

Christine hesitated, thinking for a moment about how to gather her words into a sentence that he would understand. "I thought I wanted you, but-"

"Now you do not?" Erik's knuckles turned white as he balled his hands in fists.

"No! Let me finish." Christine gasped, staring down at him with desperate eyes. "That's not what I meant. I was saying, I thought that I wanted you, but then Raoul entered into the equation and I was spun up in the romantic ideas of falling in love with your childhood sweetheart. Fuelled by Meg's pressing to rekindle that relationship, I changed my mind about you. But even then, Raoul did not feel right. He did not appreciate music-"

"He came to be seen not to appreciate."

"Yes." Christine laughed nervously, trying to sort her thoughts. "I was afraid of you because of the way you made, the way you make me feel." She turned to him, curling her feet up to rest beside his leg. "I chose him at first because he offered me protection and a life of wealth. But I'd rather be poor than to have to obey wifely duties for a man who only held a sliver of a heart that wasn't true."

Erik stared at his hands, his eyes then sliding along her leg from her shoe clad toes, the small expanse of exposed stocking covered legs and along the dress she wore until he met her eyes. "And I claim to be the poet."

Christine smiled, with nimble fingers she reached for the tie of his mask. Something inside of her desired to see him as a whole. Nothing he would ever say would vanquish that desire. Without a second thought she pulled the ribbon, the mask tumbling from his face and to his hands.

Erik cursed , fumbling to return the mask to his hideous face. "Christine!"

"I'm not sorry." Christine managed to say as she placed her hand on the mask, keeping him from replacing it.

"Do not be foolish." Erik snarled, choosing to cover his face with his hand if she was insistent for him not have the mask on.

With a wry smile, she jerked the mask from his hand. "I want to see."

"Are you possessed woman?" Erik growled, fighting her hand as it tried to pry his hand from his cheek. "Stop." He leapt from the armchair to free himself from her. It was a vain attempt. Christine was quick to her feet and fast on his heels.

"It doesn't repulse me."

"It repulses me." Erik spat, turning around to glare at her. "Who would want to stare into this face? It is a face not even a mother could love. Why would my _fiancée_ want to stare into it?"

"Your mother did not choose to have you. She was not obligated to love you as you were. But I chose you. I am not here because I have to be, I'm here because I want to be." Christine covered his hand with hers, feeling him trembling beneath her hand. "I have stared into that face before and kissed you and swore my love."

"Christine," it was the voice of a broken man that fell from his lips, like a sinner's desperate prayer. She could break him into a thousand shattered pieces with the heartfelt words that formed from those gorgeous lips.

He lunged forward like a starved beast, his hands clutching her shoulders to pull her closer towards him. No matter how close she was it was never enough. His lips devoured hers, the passion consuming them both. Christine's arms were flung around his neck carelessly as she leaned into the kiss, deepening it. He pulled her flush to his chest, reversing their positions so it was her back pushed against the bookcase.

Erik gasped as their lips broke for a split second to allow a short breath before they returned to their all consuming kisses. Erik couldn't hold back the intense fire she was flooding him with. His hips pushed against her desperation.

"Erik, Christine!"

There lust filled eyes flew open, lips reluctantly separating. Erik jerked around to see Madame Giry standing in the doorway of the library. Christine craned around his head to see the woman scowling in the doorway. The couple cursed at the woman's intrusion, prying themselves apart in embarrassment. Erik inwardly groaned at the loss of contact, cursing God for being so cruel.

"Madame Giry," Erik growled, remembering that he was without his mask. Thankful that he had some way to mask the obvious desire on his face. He glanced at Christine, she still leaned against the bookcase trying to catch her breath. Her chest heaved and her face was flushed.

"What if I were Meg? What if I just found my way in her to find that scene? Are neither of you conscious that you are not the only ones in this house?" Madame Giry snarled, closing the door behind her. "We are here to hide not to enjoy lust filled rutting in the library."

Christine shrank at those words, trying to reclaim her composer. She glanced at Erik, frowning as he hid his face again. Did he even realise that she preferred his bare face? She was attracted to that man. He stirred such strange and beautiful fires in her stomach that she had never felt so fully before. Every part of her ached for him. But this was not the time to be thinking about what it would be like to fulfil those dark dreams she had dreamt.

"I will do whatever I desire to do with Christine, Antoinette. I believe I am being forced to repeat myself. Something, that you know, I despise. If I feel to make Christine _mine_ I will do it. Whether it's against that book case, or that bookcase." He motioned to two different bookcases, "Or perhaps across the dinner table, or that chair there." Erik's voice became increasingly inflamed with anger. "The staircase or in my bedroom I will."

"Erik," Christine whispered, reaching to hold his arm. He tensed at her touch and she cringed, afraid that his balled fist would make contact. The hit never came.

"I am sorry." Erik replied, glancing over his shoulder at her. "Let us go."

"I will keep order in this house!" Madame Giry shouted as Erik led Christine past the older woman. "I will keep order!"


	8. Chapter 8

Erik led Christine up the stairs as quickly as their feet would move. He knew it was a vain attempt to get them away from any interrupting people and keep the passionate atmosphere, but it was already long gone. He had been so close to letting every wall tumble down. Then Madame Giry had to interrupt and ruin it all.

"She should learn to knock," Erik snapped as he slammed the bedroom door shut and began lighting candles. Sunlight crept through the boarded window in thin rays here and there. Christine sat down on his bed slowly, her legs were betraying her. They felt heavy and limp.

Christine laughed softly, "I'm shaking like a leaf when a winter wind blows through." She was afraid to meet Erik's eyes, afraid to admit that she had been so close to giving herself to him.

Erik closed his eyes, contemplating what to say. "Did it scare you?" Those were not the comforting and reassuring words he had wanted to say.

"Did what scare me?" Christine asked quietly, looking up at Erik with wide eyes. She was still taking deep uneven breaths, trying to recover her composure.

"The passion?" Erik felt his body tense at the word, wondering if she felt the same way.

"Yes." Christine confessed, "Of course it does, I do not know what I am doing."

"Neither do I," Erik replied, sitting down on the edge of the bed beside him. He wrapped his arm around her waist slowly, needing to feel her close to him again.

"Of course you know," Christine turned to look at him, frowning when she saw only a mask with no emotion. "Remove the mask." Seeing him was more important than knowing whether or not he had done _that_ before.

"Christine," His jaw set hard, "What is it with my face that makes you desire to see it?"

"Because that is the face of the man I love." Christine reached behind his head and tugged at the ribbons , placing her other hand over the front to let it fall from his face gracefully.

Erik turned slowly, trying to resist the urge to cover his cheek. Christine was already stroking the swollen misshapen skin, her fingers mapping the disfigurement. Her fingers set thrills through him. "As I said before, I am us unskilled as you are."

"But you are so passionate and you seem so sure."

Erik closed his eyes, feeling her other hand set itself on her thigh, keeping her balance on the bed. Every touch was torturous to his nerves. "You do not have to be skilled to be passionate. You should know me well enough to know that I never let my guard down."

"You don't let your guard down?" Christine tested her luck, sliding her hand up his thigh just an inch or so.

"Christine," Erik's eyes flew open and he pushed her hand away. It wasn't what he really wanted to do but he couldn't let them be together for their first time, while he was blinded with lust and unbridled desire and unable to control himself. Like the novels he had read, he wanted their first time to be romantic and passionate – not against the bookcase or anywhere else he may have mentioned.

"I'm sorry," Christine gasped as she covered her face in shame. "I just, I.. I don't know what to do."

"Don't be." Erik placed his hand over his cheek self-consciously, feeling too bare for his own comfort. "I know how you feel."

"But you have not...?"

Erik laughed at her sheepish gaze, "Not even a paid whore would let me take her." His voice was not so gentle, the anger of that still brimming. He wished that he could be skilled for Christine's sake. He was sure that the Vicomte would have been skilled in the art of lovemaking, just like he was skilled in the art of kind words and handsome looks. "Why me Christine? When you are so vibrant with youth and your innocence why do you want me?"

"Because I love you," Christine moved so she was sitting on her knees on the bed, wrapping her arm gracefully across his shoulder. "No matter what Madame Giry says, I know my mind and I know who I want to be with."

Erik grew in a deep breath, slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her closer to him. His lips automatically found their way to hers, kissing her as slow as he could bear. He wanted to posses her fully and had to fight to maintain his composure. "Christine." He groaned as he pushed her back against the mattress.

Christine tensed as her back hit the bed, uncurling her legs as he leaned over her. Her hands found their way around his waist and running her fingers up his back firmly. His touch was intoxicating. She gasped as she felt his hands roaming along her skin. As brave as she pretended that she was, this terrified her more than anything.

"Erik," she gasped as he started pulling at the laces of her bodice. Her own hands started pulling at the tails of his shirt, tugging it free from his waist band so that her fingers could start to stroke the soft skin they found. His skin felt smooth in unusual streaks, where scars had formed from his constant beatings.

Erik freed the last lace and brushing against the thinner material. He was trying to slow them down, slow himself down. This was not how he had ever pictured this playing out. He felt his hips grind against her for the first time without meaning to and it broke him from the passionate haze.

"Christine we can't." He broke away from her lips, marvelling at the panting beauty beneath him. "This isn't how I want to be with you."

"You don't want to be with me?" Were the only words she could understand.

"No!" He protested, leaning down to kiss her again, "I want you right now, but I want to make love to you when we're married."

Christine smiled up at him, stroking her fingers through his hair as she stared up at him. She could wait.


	9. Chapter 9

"Open your mouth more and project," Erik barked as pressed his hand against her stomach, making her tense her diaphragm.

"Do really want every gendarme in Paris coming to this house because they think someone's being murdered?" Christine chirped, turning to give him a little smile. "Besides with no music it's terribly hard to keep a tune."

"Do you miss our lessons?"

Christine smiled sadly, "It was the only absolute constant in my life. Every day was bearable because I had that to look forward to."

"You looked forward to seeing this monster?"

"Yes."

Erik tilted his head, intrigued by this information. "Every day?"

Christine laughed softly, leaning back against him and letting her head rest against his shoulder. "Yes."

"You always seemed terrified." Erik sighed, pressing his lips against her gently curled hair, breathing in deeply. "I thought I horrified you."

"I can't lie, I was always scared. There was a strange, musical angel teaching me."

"Your angel of music?" Erik laughed suddenly, "I call myself a devil and you call me your angel of music."

"What's funny?"

"They're one in the same. Lucifer was the angel of music before his fall."

"Oh," Christine gasped as it clicked in her mind. "But you're not the devil."

Erik cupped her cheek tenderly, giving her a lopsided grin. "You are to kind to me."

Christine reached out to touch his damaged cheek, her fingers playing against the tender flesh. She had to admit that he was ugly looking if you did not know the man behind the disfigurement. He had a half of a nose that she had never pictured missing with the false image of his mask, the empty place where the rest of his nose was nothing but a darkly scarred spot with a hole that she felt his warm breath flowed through. His eye drooped, the skin sagging beneath it giving the impression that it was painful. His lip was bloated and misshapen, roughly scarred but strangely intoxicating to kiss. His cheek was sunken in, thin against his strong cheekbone and nearly translucent. The disfigurement drew right into his hairline that receded farther back than his opposite side. Even his ear was disfigured, it seemed like it had been crushed and bent unusually, missing the cartilage that made the top part of the ear.

But he was handsome.

Christine met his eyes, realising how intently she had been staring at him. "Sorry."

"I can't expect you not to be horrified by it."

"I want to know it as intimately as I know my own skin. Every little flaw and imperfection." Christine felt him tremble beneath her hand, giving a slight chuckle at the hazy look in his eyes. "I should probably go, I'm sure Meg is wondering where I am."

"You have no idea how much self-control I have to use around you. I've never been one to control my urges. If I want something I take it. If I want to destroy something it has no chance to survive." His breath was shaky as he took her hands in his hands, pressing the knuckles against his uneven lips. "It's so hard for me to control myself for you."

Christine felt a smile draw across her lips. Erik was a perfect gentleman, more than she had pictured him being. Raoul had appeared to be a gentleman, regal and handsome – but in actuality he had had many lovers and had often seemed to expect Christine to be willing to give up her virtue to him. How many times had she batted his roaming hands away from sliding any closer to the apex of her legs those evenings in the carriage after dinner? He had always been insistent that since they were to be married that she shouldn't mind indulging in each other. But that was one thing that her father had ingrained in her mind. If you love someone you can wait until you are wed.

Erik was willing to wait no matter how hard it was for him. She had felt how ready he was for her. Christine was not so naive that she didn't have some idea how the coupling took place. Most of the ballerinas used themselves as tools to draw in money from patrons. They frequently talked about the sizes of the men they had been with, who were worth their time and who was a decent lover. She had pretended to ignore what they said, finding it distasteful and wanton. Now she wished she had listened a little more intently.

"I've waited for four years to be with you," Erik murmured as he stared down into her eyes.

"Four years?" Christine laughed, "Four years ago I was a terribly gawky creature."

"That made my heart swell with love." Erik brushed his fingers through her curls. "I loved you before you blossomed completely into this radiant creation."

"I've had a childish crush on you since you first came to me through the mirror." Christine admitted with a nervous laugh and a hot blush that crept across her cheeks. "I was only ten then."

"I know," Erik pressed her forehead against hers, cherishing this intimate moment. "I promised your father that you would be under my watchful eye."

"You met him?" Christine asked, pulling away and staring at him with shock. "You never said."

"I met your father when he first gave you to the care of Madame Giry, you were a small child of only eight." Erik closed his eyes and shook his head, the fact that he had known Christine when she had been a young child made their passion feel somehow wrong in his mind. "He asked me to take care of you, make sure you were trained to appreciate music. But he didn't ask me to take you to my bed and make you my wife."

Christine rose up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against his ugly cheek, letting her lips linger as though she were kissing his lips. "You've taken care of me better than I could ever imagine being cared for."

"I should have let you go with the fop. That would have been care. He would have cared for you until your dying breath. You would have never wanted for anything."

Christine shook her head, pressing her long delicate finger against his lips. "I would have wanted you."

"The fop could have been a suitable lover for such a regal beauty like you." Erik combed his fingers through her hair, licking his lip where her finger had just been. "You might protest that I am everything you want but I will never feel worthy of your love."

"I'm not worthy of your love." Christine retorted, giving him a wide-eyed daring look that sparkled in her eyes.

"Your worthy of so much more than me."

"Raoul would have never been able to make me happy. He was too wanting, too determined to have me when I did not want him, he never lit this roaring fire in my belly that scares me so." She felt her cheeks burn hot. "He would try to touch me even though I protested, he only turned me cold."

"I'd kill him." Erik's eyes burned hot at her words, it churned a different fire inside of him. Those homicidal tendencies to destroy an offender flared dangerously. "You should be treated with care and respect."

"I really should go," Christine pulled away reluctantly, feeling cold without him being so near. She gave his hand a squeeze as she stepped backwards. "I'll see you later after we've both cooled down." She moved closer again to leave him with a passionate and lingering kiss.

Erik groaned as she left his room, leaving him alone to contemplate and solve the many problems he faced.

~o~

Christine tip-toed down the creaking stairs. Her heart was pounding against her chest and she felt like she could float into the sky if there wasn't a ceiling between her and the mid-morning sky. Erik made her feel alive like nothing had ever made her feel.

"Christine?" Meg asked as she popped her head out from behind the doorway. "Where have you been? I heard you singing."

"Erik," Christine said softly as she saw her friend's eyes widen at the use of the masked man's name. "wanted me to continue practicing so I don't lose my progress. But, I chose to stop because I didn't want anyone passing outside to hear."

"It was nice to hear a song in this cold house." Meg chuckled as Christine bounded down the stairs, uncaring now that she had been seen. "You were up there for a very long time."

"Was I?" Christine glanced over her shoulder, up the stairwell towards his room. "I lost track of time."

"Did his mask do that to your lip?" Meg asked abruptly, gesturing towards the forgotten nick on her face. Christine blushed, darting into the parlour of the house to avoid eye contact. "Well?"

"Perhaps."

"What is it like to kiss him? Bouquet said his lips were like a dead man-"

"I am most certain that Bouquet never kissed him." Christine gritted, sitting herself down with a plop on the chaise lounge. "He is nothing like a dead man, he is entirely alive."

"But what of you and Raoul. I realise you left him to come here, but... I figured you would return to him."

"No. No." Christine shook her head fervently, "I cannot return to someone I do not love. I.. I.. Love Erik." The admittance felt good. She could say it to him, but she wasn't sure if she could have admitted it someone else.

"He's much older than you, isn't he?"

"Twenty some years is nothing." Christine snapped quickly, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. "Love knows no age."

Madame Giry listened to Christine from outside of the parlour. She was a naive girl; she knew nothing of the disturbed man that she 'loved'. Madame Giry would make certain that Christine never got the happy ending she was expecting with Erik.

**A/N: Erik's just so sure that he shouldn't be loved. ): Poor baby needs a hug *pulls out Erik plushie***


	10. Chapter 10

Christine glanced between Meg and Madame Giry, unsure of how to break the eerie silence at the table. Erik hadn't come down yet for dinner and she wondered if he even would make an appearance. If he felt at all like she did at how very close they got to complete surrender, he would want to hide himself like she was unable to.

Madame Giry stared silently at the soup, taking spoonful after spoonful of the soup she had made. There was nothing she could say that wouldn't be tinged with her vengeful anger that was harbouring inside her chest. Christine was not worthy of Erik's attention.

Erik entered the room abruptly, wearing the full mask that covered his face save for the small cut out for his lips. Christine nervously met his eyes, giving him a smile as he moved to sit down to her right. Erik's lips curved into a smile as he looked at Christine. "Soup again?" He asked nonchalantly, glancing down the table at Madame Giry.

"It's easy to make and keeps well." Madame Giry replied dryly, tensing as she watched Christine and Erik exchange a silent conversation. "You seem in better spirits."

"No thanks to you," Erik replied with a flippant snort of laughter.

"Erik," Christine whispered, letting her hand slip under the table to pat his knee. Christine couldn't believe what an intimate gesture that was until she had done it. Just a few days ago she couldn't imagine being near enough to touch him and here she was touching his leg to calm him.

His piercing emerald green eyes met her shy blue ones as she pulled hand away. She saw his Adam's Apple quiver at her touch. "It's fine Christine."

"Erik you should be more hospitable to me," Madame Giry said coldly as she watched the two carefully, "I have it in my power to alert certain authorities to your whereabouts."

"Mother!" Meg gasped, "No! You can't do that."

"Madame Giry," Erik began, seeking to capture Christine's hand beneath the table. He honestly did not care if Antoinette saw their heartfelt touch. After her walking in on them passionately entangled against a bookcase, a gentle pat was nothing. "I believe that would be detrimental to your two person family." His eyes flickered towards Meg, smirking at her wide-eyed fear.

"Erik," Madame Giry gritted, letting her spoon clatter into her bowl noisily.

"Bouquet, Piangi, anyone who sat beneath the chandelier, a few foolish gendarmes who lurked behind stage would be able to give your proof of what my frustration can do. But, wait..." Erik's eyes shone with a near demonic light. "They can't tell you anything. Can they?" He broke off in a cold, heartless, laughter.

Christine bit her lip, feeling a pull of fear in her heartstrings. She had felt this fear when she had first removed his mask, those curses he screamed at her still echoed in her mind. The paralyzing fear she felt when he held Raoul in the Punjab Lasso, pulling it tighter and making him gasp for sputtering breaths.

"Christine do you see the kind of man you swear that you _love_?" Madame Giry mocked, staring at the nervous looking naive child. She was a child rather Erik wanted to admit it.

Christine swallowed hard, licking at her dry lips nervously. She turned to look at Erik slowly, seeing that his fist had tightened into a furious ball, his knuckles white from the pressure. His passion was overwhelming, it could be loving or killing. His volatile gaze met hers and she tried to form a coherent thought in her mind. "I know what I have chosen, Madame."

"You are comfortable with choosing a murderer? Letting his murdering hands, the hands that nearly put an end to your Vicomte, touch you in places you, presumably, you've never let anyone touch before."

Christine sucked in a quick breath, Madame Giry's words brought back the warm feeling in her belly at the thought of Erik's hands touching her. "I-"

"Do not need to answer her questions," Erik replied, squeezing her hand tightly beneath the table. "For your information, Antoinette, I will never hurt Christine."

"What makes her different from anyone else?"

"She has accepted me for who I am."

Christine stared at Erik, giving him a weak nod. Why must dinner become an arguing match? Was it so hard to sit and have polite conversation and eat? Two nights had become a fight over what she felt, thought, wanted. "Can we please eat?"

"Yes." Erik replied quickly, releasing her hand and taking a mouthful of the soup. He wasn't hungry, not now that his stomach was knitted in painful knots. He glanced at Christine as she was taking a hesitant bite of the soup. He felt pitiful that he was partially the cause for the pained expression on her face. He longed to let her carry on a normal life, but life would never be normal for her with him.

"Thank you," Christine mumbled, wondering if anyone else at the small rectangular table felt sick with each bite. She knew she needed food, she had been starving before all of this transpired for a second evening. Perhaps tomorrow she could take her dinner with Erik upstairs, away from the woman who created the tense air with her meddling.

The silence resumed until Christine excused herself from the room, heading directly up the stairs towards Erik's room. She heard him following close behind, his light footsteps against the creaky floorboards.

"At least this time you're not crying." Erik tried to laugh, forcing the sound from his chest but it came out all wrong sounding. "Sorry."

"You're fine." Christine replied, sitting down on the edge of his bed and running her hands across the quilt. "How many people have you killed?"

Erik tensed at her question, closing his eyes and turning away. He was silent as he began lighting the candles, filling the dark room with orange light. The question loomed between them, hovering somewhere near the ceiling like a storm cloud on a beautiful day. "Twelve."

"Tweleve?" Christine couldn't suppress the gasp or the horror in her voice.

"It's more I'm sure. I do not know how many died in the chandelier fall or the fire." Erik sounded oddly calm about the subject, despite the self loathing he felt inside. He glanced over his shoulder, seeing Christine sitting silently on the edge of his bed. "You know me enough to know that I have nearly no control over my own actions."

"How can you not control what you do?"

"I was never taught self control, Christine. I was taught to take what you wanted no matter the cost." Erik removed the mask from his face, replacing it was the soft black mask, similar to the one he had worn for Don Juan.

"But your conscious-"

"Tells me that it's alright. There is no moral compass inside this twisted mind." Erik shook his head as he studied his reflection in the vanity mirror. The hue of the candles were flickering in his eyes and making them look like the demon's eyes he knew he had. He turned away, unable to look at himself anymore. "Antoinette pointed out a valid point, surprisingly."

"What?" Christine asked with a tremble in her voice.

"Are you comfortable with these retched murder's hands touching you in sweet and intimate ways?" Erik asked, hearing the disgust in his own words. "Letting these lips kiss your tender flesh when they have smiled as I watched a man breathe his last breath with my noose wrapped around his neck?"

"Stop!" Christine snapped, covering her ears in a childlike attempt to pretend she couldn't hear the words that were echoing around inside of her mind.

"They are important questions Christine." Erik sank down onto his knees before her, looking up at her from behind the black mask. "One thing I will restrain myself from doing is forcing you to be with a possessive madman."

"But, I want to be here." Christine said slowly, letting the words form in her mouth carefully. "You terrify me but I still want you."

"I do not deserve your kindness. I deserve death's sweet kiss or a torturous slow lingering death."

"Don't say that." Christine pressed her delicate finger to his lips, letting it stroke across the misshapen skin there. "I'll never be able to forget what you have done but I can accept it. Because I love you."

Erik pressed his forehead against her knees, breathing raggedly. "Oh Christine." Her fingers brushed the back of his head, stroking his scalp beneath his hair. "I'll never be able to understand you."

"Give me your hands."

"What?" Erik looked up at her, offering her his hands hesitantly. He closed his eyes as he felt her soft lips brushing against his calloused and scarred fingers, moving along the back of his hand before kissing the palms.

"These hands," She whispered as she kissed the tips of each digit, "Are the only hands I ever want touching me."

He cupper her cheek as she pressed his hands to her cheeks, "Christine I need you in my life to keep me sane." Rising to his feet leaned down to kiss her lips, her lips parted and her tongue pressed against his lips. There was kiss passionate and tender at the same time. "Christine," He gasped as she felt her hands tugging at his shirt.

"I need you." She begged, knowing that such a phrase could be his undoing.

Erik groaned, pushing his lips back against hers. Why was she giving in to him? She should be disgusted and pushing him away from her not sweetly begging for him to claim her. His mind was swelling at the image it was putting together. Christine beneath him, writhing in passion as they entered a new world together. It was what he had longed to experience for years. He had promised to himself that he wouldn't do this. Was she testing him?

"No!" He pulled away from her, buttoning the buttons back up where she had nearly removed his shirt from his body.

"Erik," Christine gasped, feeling dizzy with the sudden loss of him. "Please."

"No, I promised myself and you that I would not do this until we were married. I would not subject you to a life of shame if you fell pregnant with a monster's child and unwed."

"But-" Christine rose to her feet, stumbling as her head spun from the intoxicating kiss.

"No buts," He spoke, "If-"

"Past all thought of "if" or "when"." Christine smirked as she spoke the lyrics to that passionate song they had sung together.

"Christine you would regret it." Erik pushed the lyrics from his mind as the song began to play through his mind. "Don't mistake this as me not wanting you; because" He gave an exasperated laugh, "I want you."

"When I'm around you set my soul on fire. You make me burn with such fierce passion that it threatens to consume me."

"That's the same passion I feel when I kill," Erik replied gravely, trying to make her lose the lust and desire. "It's dangerous to feel like that. It blinds you and you can no longer think straight."

Christine wilted, "How can something so intoxicating be dangerous?"

"Alcohol is intoxicating, you feel good right up until that moment when you lash out on somewhere you care for and hurt them past the point of no return." He held onto her arm, gripping it tighter than he wanted to as a point to what he said. "You can kill someone out of passion. A jealous lover blinded with pure fierce love can murder his betraying lover or their tryst."

"Like when you nearly killed Raoul." Christine breathed, "But you let him go."

"I let him go because in that moment I realised that it would only hurt you. I loved you so much that I realised I had to let you go because I would only destroy ever glimmer of light that you ever shone on my wicked heart." Erik held his breath as he looked down at her, seeing fear in her eyes when he tightened his grip on her tender shoulders. "But you came back to me. I let you go and you came back."

"I didn't want him. I didn't love him."

"You felt pity for this hideous beast."

"No." Christine was fighting to contain the sob that threatened to escape her throat.

"You felt pity for this murderer."

"No."

"You returned to me because you felt sorry for leaving me alone and you wanted to make love to me because you felt sorry for what I have gone through in my miserable life."

Christine shook her head, feeling his tight grip leaving indentations on her skin. There would be bruises there tomorrow. "It's not like that!" She sobbed, feeling the tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Until you can love me and not pity me I will never give into the desires of the flesh." He released her, watching as she sank to her knees. Erik loved her with more of his heart than he knew he had but she had to learn what was love and sympathy. He had no sympathy for anyone it didn't cloud the primal emotion of love.


	11. Chapter 11

How do you prove that you love someone when you're convinced that you love them?

Christine thought about that question every single moment she was awake and even worse every second she tried to sleep. She was beginning to get bags under her eyes and the lack of sleep was taking a toll out of her. She hadn't been sleeping much for the past few weeks. Before Don Juan she had been too worried about what would happen when she removed the Phantom's mask, par the plan of Raoul and the gendarmes.

She knew she loved Erik. She knew it in her soul. When she thought about spending her life with someone he was all she could see. He made her feel alive. She had thought she had been in love with Raoul, he was everything she had dreamed about as a young girl. Handsome, wealthy, kind, loving. But, he didn't fill that hole in her heart like Erik did.

She'd always fancied him, at least since she had hit puberty. He was a handsome, mysterious, seductive singer who was tutoring her and only her. How could she deny that attraction she felt? But he scared her at the same time. He had sung to her once a song that made his voice nothing but pure seduction, _The Music of the Night_. His hands had roamed freely along the corset of her dress, the first time she had truly felt the passion that ebbed silently between them.

But now he was denying that she cared for him. It had to be his lack of self-worth and his self-loathing that made him think that she wasn't capable of truly loving him. She didn't know how she could make him believe that she loved him if he couldn't accept that he was just like any other man. He was worthy of love and happiness despite everything he had done.

Christine slipped into the library in the early hours of the morning, finding it actually empty this time. She had seen little of Erik alone. He was more cautious now, trying to contain his desires. Meal time was always a three ring circus; something was doomed to happen between Madame Giry, Christine, and Erik. Meg would just sit and look terrified that she would need to interject something.

It had been nearly a week since she had vanished from the de Chagny mansion without a word to her Vicomte fiancée. They had been discussing leaving this abandoned house and moving to one a little bit farther away from the centre of Paris. But nothing had happened yet. Erik had spent most evenings slipping from the house in pursuit of a new hideaway.

Christine sat down in the library, curling her feet beneath her as she started reading a book she found on one of the bookshelves. It was entitled _Fantomina_ and it began like any normal work she had read before. It seemed intriguing; it began in a playhouse the unnamed character was interested in the men at the theatre. But the story quickly turned downhill as the woman disguises herself as a prostitute to get the attention of a man he buys her favour and...

Christine slammed the book shut. She had read more of that scene that she wanted to. The woman was raped by the Monsieur Beauplaisir.

But now she wanted to know what was going to happen to them. She began reading again, blushing all the while as she continues to read about the woman's exploits. Christine read up until the moment that the woman going by many names arrives back Beauplaisir after she has been gone and has slept with other men. The story is something close to home when the heroine dons a mask to sleep with Beauplaisir.

She could handle the woman's rape and sexual escapades and her deceitful nature but to don a mask when there was no reason other to hide her identity was wrong. Even then you shouldn't have to hide true self to be accepted.

Christine jumped when the door to the library opened with a creak, "Oh!" She shouted hiding the book between her leg and the chair.

"Christine," Erik laughed as he walked in, leaving the door propped open behind him. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing." She replied quickly, stuffing the book farther out of sight.

"Do you always look so flushed? I do not recall you having such trouble with looking me in the eyes either." Erik held his hand out, wondering what book she had been reading. He knew there were a few volumes of very erotic fiction in the library, but he doubted the Christine would even be able to read past a few pages.

"I was reading _Fantomina_," Christine explained as she handed him the book, "It's slightly scandalous."

"I have read it," Erik said, staring at the book for a moment before handing it back to her. "What did you think of it?"

"Oh, well." Christine uncoiled her legs from beneath, "I enjoyed it for the most part."

"It was explicit in some places," Erik remarked, seeing her blush crimson.

"That's not what bothered me." Christine glanced up at him, "I disagreed with how she covered herself-"

"With a mask." Erik gritted, turning away from her to study the bookcases for something to read.

"Yes with a mask. I do not think someone should need to cover themselves to feel accepted."

"The heroine covered her face because her only desire was to sleep with Beauplaisir because she desired his body and not him. They tire of each other after awhile leaving her pregnant with his child."

"I hadn't read that far," Christine responded, watching him as he perused the shelves. "I was disappointed in her donning a mask because she was ashamed of who she was."

"She didn't don a mask in shame, Christine," Erik snapped, staring over his shoulder at her. "She donned a mask because she was a deceitful woman who was only romancing men for her own pleasures. I doubt she even honestly cared for Beauplaisir."

"That's not how I saw it," Christine shrank back into the chair at his harsh words. "I guess I was only thinking about real life and not the world of fiction."

"I do not wear a mask to romance women," Erik argued, "I wear a mask because I do not want to force anyone to have to look at the abomination of my face."

"Erik," Christine shook her head as she stared at him. "Do you see horror in my face when I look at you?"

"No?" Erik asked, wondering what exactly she was getting at.

"If I merely pitied you I would have to be a damn good liar and the best actress in France." Christine rose to her feet, trying her best to be strong about it. "I have never been able to lie to anyone but myself."

"Christine," Erik warned as he watched her carefully. He hadn't noticed how tired and fatigued she had started looking.

"Don't Christine me! I am trying to tell you that my feelings are true."

"You pity me."

"I do not pity you! I care for you, if that is pity in your eyes then so be it. But, I know that I love and care for you. I perhaps feel terrible about how you have been treated in the past, but that is because I am sympathetic creature. My father always taught me how to be nice to others by envisioning how I would feel in their situation. You cannot judge my love for you by my nature."

Erik's uncovered brow sank low, his eyes revealing that he was softening towards what she was saying. "If I am not to judge you for your nature then you cannot judge me on my nature to not trust."

Christine slowly stepped towards him, nervous that he might move away from her and avoid her still. "You can trust me." She said softly staring up at him with a half-hearted sad smile. "You can always trust me."

Erik reached towards his mask, knowing what happened the last time he had tried to kiss her with it on. Her had intercepted his and kept him from removing the mask. He silently questioned her action receiving only a mischievous smile from her.

Christine unlaced the tie, tenderly removing the mask from his disfigured cheek. "No mask."

"That's what I was trying to do." Erik insisted, leaning down towards her to kiss her. Her responding kiss was feather soft and before he could say a word she was darting from the library. With his mask.

"Christine!"

Erik stood at the door of the library staring out hesitantly. His mask was his comfort. He felt like an animal that had always known a cage and was suddenly put into a wide open field that knew no boundaries. It terrified him.

"Christine!" He shouted again, not caring if he woke up the whole house. He covered his face with his hand taking the first hesitant step from the library as he went in search of her.

"Erik?" Madame Giry questioned, appearing from behind her bedroom door, tying her robe around her body. "What are you doing?"

"Go back to bed," He growled, revealing that he was without his mask.

"Where is your mask?"

"Ask Christine," He gritted as he continued down the hall, clutching his face. He could not understand the girl to save his life. She made no sense. How was it that she was comfortable with his deformed head when he could hardly bare his own reflection?

He heard the floor above his head groan. She had gone upstairs to his room. "Christine!" He shouted again as he bounded up the stairs to his room. "Damned woman what are you doing?"

Erik burst into his room to find that Christine was not destroying his masks like he had expected her to be busily working on. Instead she had left his mask with the rest of them on the vanity and had taken to sitting on his bed.

"What are you doing?" He questioned, eyeing her suspiciously.

"I don't want you to wear the mask. You've said it before; _I am the mask you wear_. Use me as your comfort and your shield. You don't need to hide yourself here, Madame Giry has seen you and Meg tries to stay away from you."

"Christine," Erik sighed glancing between the masks and her. "Why are you so determined?"

"Lack of sleep and poor judgement I'm sure." Christine retorted as she stared at him.

"Why haven't you been sleeping?" Erik's tone turned from frustration to concern.

"I haven't slept well since Raoul told me the plan to kill you during _Don Juan_." She confessed, wringing her hands together. "I thought when I came here I would be able to sleep better again. But, I only lie awake thinking about everything that is happening, could happen, isn't happening."

Erik sank down on the bed beside her, pulling her towards him so she could rest her cheek against his chest. "You should try to rest."

"I can't. I try and I just can't."

"Lie down," He whispered into her ear, letting her go so she could lie down.

"What?" Christine questioned nervously.

"Just lay down."

Christine quietly kicked off her shoes and laid back against the bed, resting her cheek against the pillow. Taking a deep inhale that made her smile. The pillows smelt like Erik, exotic and spicy.

"Here," Erik kicked off his own shoes, lying down beside her on the bed. "Try to rest." He brushed a strand of hair from her face before letting his arm rest across her waist.

Christine listened to his slow and steady breathing, letting her heavy eyes close. It only took a few minutes before his presence had lulled her to sleep. Erik studied her angelic face as she slept, never moving in fear of waking her from her peaceful slumber.

He had drifted asleep after an hour or so but was awoken by Christine shifting in her sleep. She rolled towards him, pressing her face into his shirt and curling against him, nestling as close to him as she could. Erik couldn't help but smile as he let the sleep pull him back in.

**A/N: **_**Fantomina**_** is a real book, search it on Wiki. The woman really does don a mask. I stumbled upon this by accident. Best book to have Christine read! **


	12. Chapter 12

Christine's eyes fluttered open, it took her a moment to see where she was. One arm was thrown over Erik's waist like his own arm over her waist, she was coiled tightly against his body. He was a solid, warm figure beside her that made her feel safe. She had slept in his embrace.

Erik was still asleep, quiet snores whistling from his half nose. He didn't have his mask on. Christine smiled softly, finally being able to see his face fully without him jerking away or hiding. She timidly reached out to place her delicate hand against his cheek. Her fingertips gently brushing against the twisted skin. It was ugly, but it was him and she loved him.

"Christine," He sighed sleepily as his eyes flew open. He hadn't forgotten how close she was, and how soft and warm she felt beneath his hand. His thumb rubbed circles against her waist, "Did you sleep?"

"I slept better than I ever have." Christine snuggled close again, not wanting to leave the warmth of his arms. "Even you slept."

"How could I not sleep with you beside me?" Erik kissed her forehead, letting his lips stay there. "However I fear you're on my sleep pattern now."

"What do you mean?"

"It's evening." Erik chuckled, stifling a yawn. "You slept all day."

"Not nearly long enough," Christine buried her face against his chest again, "I have a lot of sleep to catch up on."

"But you also need to eat something." Erik nuzzled her hair, enjoying the feel of her soft curls against his face. "You're a tiny thing."

"I'm not dancing anymore or suffering through extensive workouts daily," Christine pressed a kiss against his neck. "You don't want me getting fat do you?"

"You'll always be perfect," Erik purred, feeling a shiver run down his spin as she continued to kiss his neck. He marvelled at how forward she had become about some things. No doubt she had learned a thing or two from the romancing fop. He had seen that handsome boy flirting with many of the chorus girls, perhaps even taking them to bed. All during his courting time with Christine. But those were things he'd never tell.

"I want to sing for you again. If we move locations I want it to be somewhere that I can sing again." Christine pulled away from his neck, looking up at him with innocent eyes. "I miss your tutoring."

"I miss teaching you," Erik's voice rumbled in his throat as his eyes flickered between her blue eyes and her soft pink lips. His Adam Apple bobbed in his throat as he repeated the action several times. "I never imagined that you would ever agree to marry this hideous beast. That's why I wanted to force it upon you."

"If you had asked.." Christine shook her head, feeling overwhelmed by his gaze. "I don't know what I would have said. I hadn't realised how I felt." Christine cupped his cheek, grazing her fingers across his skin. "I _do_ love you."

"I know," Erik whispered, as he stared into her eyes. "I'm redundant when I say I don't deserve your love, but it's true."

Christine smiled at him, "Don't think that I've resigned myself to this life. I want it."

"I want you in my life."

"Where do we have to go that a priest will accept our marriage?"

"Once I would have said Notre Dame, but that was before the city plastered poorly drawn posters of me across the city."

"They have?" Christine reluctantly stretched her legs, and rolling on to her back.

"Not that it looks at all like me. I believe your insufferable fiancée gave them the description."

"You gave them the description?" Christine smirked up at Erik.

Erik raised his eyebrow, "To him you are still his fiancée I fear. I'm sure that no one would conceive that you would willingly pledge your life to a ghastly murdering phantom."

"I am engaged to a dashing and passionate man." Christine corrected, running one finger along his misshapen bottom lip.

"Nevertheless your opinion is not the same as the world's. I believe not even Antoinette believes that I am worthy of happiness."

"She's jealous. I see the look in her eyes that's the same you look you gave me when you discovered Raoul."

"Antoinette? No." Erik shook his head in disbelief. As he worked it through in his mind he realised just how accurate that it could be."I can't believe that... No."

"Yes." Christine laughed at the look of confusion that passed across his face.

"But she cannot even look me in the face without my mask."

"She's known you the longest. She's been there for you. If anything she would want you to tutor Meg and not me. After all she has been my mother figure for many years but Meg is her true daughter."

"I doubt she would curse her own flesh and blood to me." Erik rested his palm against the flat surface of her stomach, unable to keep his hands away from her. She looked like an angel lying beside him with her dark mess of curls pillowed behind her.

"Stranger things have happened."

Erik's fingers drew little circles where they lay, "I do not see what would make me desirable to her. I have hardly ever been truly kind to her."

"I've heard it said that hate and love are the same." Christine trembled under his touch, wishing it were more than feather light.

"Do you hate me then?" Erik asked with a low timbre in his voice that made her heart leap.

"I did. I hated you passionately for everything you had done. How you yelled at me for removing your mask. I spent the evening in the dormitory sobbing over that. Or the way you jerked me so harshly down into your underworld after _Don Juan_, the way you tried to kill Raoul. I hated you so passionately." Christine saw a flash of pain in his eyes. "But I loved you all the while. I didn't want it to end. Both times I feared that it would be the last time that I saw you. That was what I hated the most, they way you pushed me away."

"Oh Christine," Erik closed his eyes, his breathing shallow for a few breaths. "I hate how you have the power to possess me with your words. I hate how you make me want to better." His emerald eyes flickered open and he leaned towards her, capturing her lips in a passionate soul-searing kiss. Their lips battled against each other, he rolled towards her letting his body rest above hers. She let her arms wrap around his strong shoulders, he was nearly as thin as she was in a masculine way. But he had rigid muscles all across his body.

Erik used one hand to hold him comfortably above her as his other hand slid farther up her abdomen. Their lips warred against each other in a dizzying intoxicating way. He was losing control. All he had thought about while she slept near him was about how much he wanted her. In between his own sleep he imagined waking up beside her after hours of passionate love-making. How she would radiate from the afterglow he had read about.

Christine's fingers dug into his back as she scraped them down his clothed spine, her hands ended at his waist band then she was sliding them back up, carrying his shirt with them with this pass. Erik groaned into her mouth, his own hand was betraying his careful reasoning and passionately touching her where he had never imagined he would ever touch except through thick layers of chemises, dresses, and corsets.

She gasped, breaking the kiss in desperation for oxygen. Her lust hazed blue eyes met his fierce, passionate emerald eyes. His hand was setting fire to her soul. Where had their control gone? Had the silently admitted that they would never be married by law? Did you need a priest to make it sanctified by God?

"Erik?" She trembled, closing her eyes for a moment. "Do we need a ceremony and a church to be married?"

"No." He rasped as he pried his hand away from the flesh he mercilessly teased. "These things I promise I will do. That life may grant you ample grace. Because I love and cherish you: I vow to treasure what is true. That I might touch whom I embrace: these things I promise I will do." Erik began as he kissed her again, his head was spinning with emotion. "I'll build a garden in your view. That with sweet fruit will stone replace. Because I love and cherish you. I vow to love each day anew, for love must dance through time and space. These things I promise I will do."

Christine felt her heart ache with his words, her hands fumbled with his shirt, wondering why buttons had to be such infernal objects.

"I vow to make your terrors few, and then with you those demons face. Because I love and cherish you. And now, as we make one of two, a passage we cannot retrace, these things I promise I will do  
because I love and cherish you."

Christine felt him press himself against her still clothed bodies, stroking the fire in her belly. "I promise to give myself to you; body, mind, heart, soul, voice." She had to think as hard as she could to concentrate on speaking the vows in her heart and not give into his touch. "God knows our love, he does not condone our passion. We have been brought back together to be one. Let us be bound by the music we make, no rings are needed to be married. Only the sweet melodies the in circle us. "

Erik pressed his lips against her throat as she spoke, he nipped at the skin of her collarbone, realising in the sounds she made.

"I promise to be your lover, your comforter, your partner, and your mask."

Christine was his undoing, he lost control of himself. Unbridled passion consumed them as they entered into a new world of love.

**A/N: Erik's vows are from a wedding vow site. I loved that it mentioned "demons" so I used it. I came up with Christine's vows on myself. You can't find vows aimed for saying to each other before you make love. (:**


	13. Chapter 13

La petit mort, that moment of ecstasy that Erik had read about. The moment that people referred to as the "little death" when the two lovers reached their peak. It didn't feel like death to him, it felt like life. It felt like beauty. He had seen death, he had seen the look in peoples' eyes as they took their last breath into their lungs and died. He had been beaten within an inch of his life.

This was not death; this was the rebirth of a new person. Two becoming one.

It had been everything he had imagined. Sure they were nervous and awkward, it hadn't gone as smoothly as he had imagined, but it was everything and more. He had Christine in his arms, engulfed in her love in her passion. Christine was his. This was something that the fop would never have. Even if they were separated in life, he would always be her first. _His_ Christine.

Christine had never imagined that _that_ was what all of the ballerinas talked about. Perhaps Erik was just a book smart lover that had learned from what he had read. She felt like she was going to die in his embrace, die of pure intoxicated bliss. None of the ballerinas ever talked about how beautiful or passionate it was. Sure, they said they enjoyed this one better than that one, but maybe that was it. It wasn't special for them, it wasn't giving themselves to the one person they loved more than anything in the world, the one they cared about more than themselves.

Thoroughly exhausted and perfectly sated she had slipped into a light slumber. Sweat damp skin against sweat damp skin and limbs entangled with limbs. She could honestly think of no better way to sleep now. With Erik she felt safe and could let her mind go.

Christine shone in her bright afterglow, even more angelic in appearance. This was the only way Erik wanted to ever see her. He wanted her happy and fulfilled. He didn't deserve such a beautiful creature curled into his arms after hours of love making, the tender heat of bare skin on bare skin as she curled deeper against him. Perhaps la petit mort was different for every person. For Erik, perhaps, it came after. It came after he realised what exactly they had done, that she had given herself to him in every way she had left to give. The woman he loved more than he thought his heart could love had willingly given herself to a gaunt, half faced, murdering, scarred monster who had lived his early years as a freak for a Gypsy travelling circus and the rest as a "phantom" beneath the Opera Populaire.

That felt like death. It felt like purgatory. Had he died and his realm of Hell offered him everything he had ever yearned for in life to drown him in happiness? He was not one to feel so terrified in the face of anything. But could he _always_ be that man Christine needed him to be? Was he really any better than Raoul? The Vicount would have caged Christine, she would never have sung again. But he promised her a life of moderate happiness, beauty, wealth, safety. But she had chosen to give her innocence to a man that had killed, uttered meaningless vows in the throes of passion, and bound herself to a life of running from the law.

Erik watched her sleep as his mind tortured him, he wanted to kiss her one last time and vanish into the night so he would not destroy her life any farther than he had already. He was certain she could perhaps still marry the Viscount. Return and say that the mad man had taken her from the manor and lie. Christine could lie about their passionate coupling and say that he had forced himself upon her and raped her. The fop would believe that it was in his nature, when truth be told he had hardly any idea of how to do it all properly. A few naughty books were a pale representation of real life, especially when your mind was not on what you had read.

But how could he leave her now?

He just needed space for a few hours of the night, without her soft body curled against him and her gentle curls tickling his skin. Erik needed to think about this new fate alone. He carefully pried himself away from her, moving slowly so she wouldn't wake up. She buried her face into the pillow as he moved away, reaching for him but groggily letting her arms flop back to the bed.

Erik tugged his pants and shoes on, pulled on his shirt, buttoning and snapping everything together before donning his mask and slipping from the room with quick light steps along the creaking floorboards. He needed to feel the cool night air licking at his skin as he stuck to the shadows and tried to clear his jumbled mind.

It didn't take very long for Erik's side of the bed to begin to cool with the loss of his body heat, causing Christine to stir. "Erik?" She murmured with her face still pressed into the pillow. She turned her cheek and slowly opened her eyes, "Erik?" The room was empty. His clothes were gone from the discarded pile and there was one less mask on the vanity.

After last night he had just got up and left?

Christine pulled the covers around her bare chest, feeling suddenly immodest in the empty room. Had she done something wrong? He couldn't blame her; she'd never done any of it before. Neither had he. It felt perfect to her, painful at first but then pleasurable. So what had warranted his sudden vanishing act?

**A/N: So, **_**la petit morte**_** is French for "little death". It was in something I was reading the other day and I thought I could use it here perfectly. Also, much like my use of **_**Stockholm Syndrome **_**in my story **_**To A Night at the Opera **_**(shameless promotion for my LesMis/Phantom crossover that everyone should read), I have used a real life condition for Erik to be suffering from right now.**

**It's called **_**Post-Coital Tristesse**_**. It's basically after sex sadness, **_**Post-Coital**_** is Latin and **_**Tristesse**_** is French. It's a common condition, and usually cause men and women to feel disconnected, guilty, worried, frightened, ect. after they have been together and causes them to disengage and become distant no matter how they feel for who they were with. It has to do mainly with the chemical releases and the down feeling after a high. So now you know what's up with Erik. **


	14. Chapter 14

Christine slipped from the bed, pulling on her discarded dress, not bothering with her underpinnings and sincher. Leaving the bedroom she listened in the quiet house for any sound of Erik. There was none. The house was silent. It was some ungodly early hour of the morning and everyone, meaning Meg and her mother, were still peacefully asleep. More so they were peacefully unaware of what had happened while they slept.

Her friend and her mother figure were unaware that each step she took was full of pain from where she and Erik had been joined together. It pained her worst than her first split had even hurt. They were as dumb to what had happened as Christine was dumb to where Erik had gone. She hadn't expected him to be gone when she awoke. That didn't seem like him at all.

Biting her lip as she turned back towards his room, she fought back the tears that threatened to stream down her cheeks. She thought everything was perfect when she drifted to sleep and now something felt amiss.

~o~

Christine snuck down the steps at the sign of the first light streaming in through the boarded windows, making quick work of the noisy stairs and hiding herself in the library. If she was lucky Madame Giry would believe that she had spent her evening in there and not making love to Erik.

Would he show up for breakfast? He'd never come back after the first time she realised he was gone. He hadn't even left a note and he was a note leaving sort of man.

Christine was sore and she was tired, she had puffy eyes from crying herself back to sleep and she knew that beneath her dress she was bruised from places he had held tightly to her. Even her lips felt swollen from all of their kissing.

She spotted _Fantomina_ still lying by the chair where she had left it yesterday. Was she any better than the woman in that book now? She wasn't married, not _really_. Not that any priest or judge was aware of. She was no better than the ballerinas she had listened to talking about who they had laid with. They talked about being left after their "services" night after night. Was that what Erik looked at it like? Had he finally had the privilege to be with someone and now he was ready to move on with his life?

Christine shoved _Fantomina_ back onto the bookcase where she had taken it from and sought out a new book to pass the hours with. She chose _Roxana: The Fortunate Mistress_ from the shelf and began reading it. Again her choice seemed to mirror reality in some sick and twisted way. The woman in the story was abandoned by her husband and she is forced to live a life a prostitute. The woman becomes quite the girl with a marriages and proposals and secret trysts with men that help her to accumulate the wealth to buy her freedom from prostitution. She even has several children from all of her sexual freedom, as she puts it.

Christine felt her heart leap in fear at the possibility of having a child growing with in her without having even thought of that possibility. Surely Erik wouldn't leave her if she was going to swell with his child. Would he?

~o~

Erik had returned to the Populaire ruins do his thinking, letting the atmosphere of his old home soothe his fear and trepidation. What exactly had he done? He had promised himself that he would show restraint and wait. Wait for what? The marriage that he knew was never going to actually come or for Christine to tire with his waiting game and leave, not because she loved Raoul but, because she was tired of being pushed away.

He had been abandoned as a child. Given to cruel and violent Gypsies to do with what they wanted. Which was beat, mock, torture, and maim to boy worse than he was already cursed with. What could Christine expect from someone who was incapable of understanding commitment and care?

He hated leaving her lying in his crimson stained bed, warm and comfortable and bathed in the beautiful afterglow of their night. That was no way to leave the woman that he claimed he loved. But he couldn't stay there right then. He had to be free. He couldn't let sleeping with Christine bind him and confuse him anymore than it already was.

Erik could hardly bear being around himself, looking at his own reflection, or suffering through his own thoughts so why did his beautiful Christine want to be with him? Was that why he chose to let his guard down and claim her like some foul, primal, beast? If he chose or she chose to let the fop have her, he would have her body but Erik would always have that moment they shared together. The moment where it was only him and him alone that made Christine a woman. She was no longer an innocent child; he had taken that from her in one passionate, all consuming, moment.

What had he done? He wasn't capable of loving her like she loved him. He hardly knew the difference between love and lust. He was passionate about her voice, their music, her beauty. He was passionate about cruelty, murdering, maiming. How could he learn to love? That wasn't love that was passion. That was his masculine essence that was damned to kill life claiming the beautiful soprano out of jealousy, rage, and lust. He had murdered her innocence not because he loved her but because he could.

_His Christine_.

How could he face her? How could he return to that abandoned derelict and dilapidated building and explain to her, as privately as he could, that he had made a mistake. Apologise from taking her virginity and promise he would let her leave if she wanted to and if she didn't he would vanish for good like he should have in the first place.

No. He made it sound like he had raped her when he thought of it like that. He was ruthless but not that ruthless. She had kissed him back, she had touched him back, she had stoked his eternal flame. He'd pushed _her_ away when she tried to persuade him with her woman's body. Her girl's body that was burning to become a woman. She had given and he had taken. Simple as that.

But how would he say it to her? What exactly did he need to say to her? Did he lie just to push her way? Tell the truth when he didn't know it yet?

Love and hate, as she had said were one in the same. If he ever learned how to love and not to hate would it come too late? After all if you put the words together, late, is in the centre.


	15. Chapter 15

Christine heard a door slam shut somewhere in the house, it didn't sound like one of the rickety bedroom doors - it sounded like the exterior doors. There were heavy footsteps, familiar footsteps. He had come back. What would she say? What would she do?

"Erik?" She called out, hesitantly and quiet. She cracked the door open and looked out, trying to catch sight at who was there.

Erik rounded the corner and met her eyes. He hadn't come up with what to say yet. "Christine."His face was emotionless as he made his way towards the library and contemplated what to say. He brushed past her and entered the room, motioning for her to shut the door.

"Why did you leave me?"

Erik gulped, he wasn't prepared for her to so quickly jump onto the subject. "It was a mistake."

"Leaving me or bedding me?" Christine's tone was no nonsense. She spent half of the night and morning worrying herself sick and she just wanted answers.

"Both." How noncommittal was that? Erik cursed himself for that response.

"How was it a mistake?" She bit her lip to keep it from trembling, the swollen skin still sensitive from his bruising kisses.

"I shouldn't have taken you," Erik replied, unable to stare into her hurting blue eyes. "You're young and have so much life ahead of you. You don't need me in your life."

"I _need_ you in my life always!" Christine snapped, closing her eyes in frustration. Her whole body trembled and shook.

"Christine, if I could go back and change last night I would. I would make it so I did not take what wasn't mine to take."

Christine shook her head furiously, "I wouldn't change it. You're the only person I can imagine being with like that."

Erik gulped, staring at her frustrated face. Her lips were swollen and her eyes were puffy. Had she been crying? "I'm sorry that you feel that way."

"_Sorry that you feel that way?"_ Christine repeated, her eyes narrowing. "Was I nothing more than a rough tumble in your sheets? Did I give you a taste and now you can be a true connoisseur?" She wiped away a tear as it slid down her cheek. "I thought you loved me?"

"I don't know how to love."

"How can you not know how to love? Everyone _loves_. You said it yourself to me, long before I ever uttered the words. You write of love and passion. Now you claim that it's foreign?"

Erik shrugged, feeling himself sinking in quick sand. He wished he could just drown to death and be over with it. "I've never learned how to love. I take and I possess."

"Then take me and possess me. If that's all you have to offer it's what I want!" Christine shouted, her small frame proving to have a powerful voice. "I want you whether you love me or want me. I love you and I am happy with you. That's all that matters to me."

"You're fine with me being passionate about only your warm flesh wrapped around me? Passionate purely full your angelic voice? Need I remind you that I am passionate for murdering?" Erik's voice turned colder than before as he watched her wilting frame. "You're fine that these lustful hands that grope your tender flesh have rung the necks of careless men?"

"Yes." Christine sobbed, rubbing her eyes and wondering why he was doing this to her. Why was he hurting her for? Was that all he was capable of doing?

"Why do you want that kind of man when you have someone who is waiting for you?"

"I'm not going back to Raoul!"

"You can go back to him claim I kidnapped you, that I raped you. He'll take you anyways I'm sure."

"You didn't rape me." Christine felt her knees going soft, as she continued to cry. "You made love to me. You know you made love to me. We uttered those vo-"

"We uttered a few sweet poetic words that mean nothing." Erik took a few bold steps towards her, glaring down at her sobbing form.

"Don't say that!" Christine lunged forward and punched her fists against his chest. She slammed her fists against his chest over and over again. "I love you!"

"Why do you want me? I am nothing but a hideous hateful monster."

Her tiny fists never ceased their punches, "I accept you for who you are because I love you." Each word was punctuated by her sobbing breaths. "I love you! Love overrides anything you can ever do or ever will do."

Erik stared at her, unmoving and unfazed by her punches. She drove him insane. He wanted to push her away and scorn her, maybe even hit her to make her stop sobbing. But here he was wanting to wrap his arms around her and comfort her.

"I-" Erik touched her arm gently, unsurprised that she flinched away.

"Don't touch me!" She snarled, shoving him back again. "You've hurt me more than any blow can ever deliver."

"Christine."

"Don't."

"Do you see this?" Erik asked, motioning towards himself. "I am incapable of understanding my emotions. I cannot differentiate between love and lust, hate and passion. This is who you want to spend your life with?"

"Yes." Christine covered her face. "I want to teach you to love and live like you have taught me to sing and live."

Erik felt something hot sliding down his cheek, he wiped it away quickly to realise he was crying. "Christine, I don't know how to feel. I care about you more than I even care about music."

"That _is_ love Erik. Care is love. That warm, intense growing feeling you get here," She pressed her palm against his chest, over his heart. "That rush of nerves in your stomach. The dizzying feel that overwhelms your mind. That is love."

"Love?" Erik questioned as he looked down at the tear stained cheeks and swollen lips, that he loved. "That's love?"

"Yes!" Christine buried her face into his shirt, not expecting him to wrap his arms around her firmly and not expecting to hear him sobbing into her hair.


	16. Chapter 16

Christine stroked her fingers through his hair, looking down at him. His head sat cradled in her lap as he stretched out across the couch. Times like this were when she could see what sort of emotional damage he had suffered from not having someone to hold him as a child. He had learned what it felt like to be held and accepted and now he craved that feeling.

"Explain love to me."

Christine ghosted her fingers across his mask. How do you explain love? "Love cannot be described so easily. Actions speak louder than words."

"Like leaving you?"

"Yes," Christine said softly, "You screamed that you did not want to wake up beside me in that one action. But love, is difficult. There's not one thing about you that I love. It's everything."

"But what is love?"

Christine sighed, "Who knows when love begins? Who knows what makes it start. One day it's simply there, alive inside your heart."

Erik looked up at her, his emerald green eyes shining at her words. "That's love? I love?"

"You're just like anyone you're capable of feeling every emotion that everyone else feels."

"Then why can't I?" Erik rubbed his hand over his face, taking her hand in his.

"You can. You seem to believe that you are above-"

"Below."

"-Humanity. But in reality you just do not know what you feel." Christine intertwined their fingers together. She still felt upset at him because he had left her. Not intentionally or even rationally but, he nevertheless he left her.

"You don't think I understand what I feel?" Erik stared up at her, curious.

"What did you feel when we were together?"

Erik groaned, sitting up quickly. "I felt.. I felt possessive. I felt, I don't really know."

Christine sighed, resting her hand on his knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "What else did you feel?"

Erik hung his head, "I don't know how to convey it. It was overwhelming and I felt like I was drowning in it."

Christine cupped his cheek, pressing her forehead against the mask covered cheek. "Do you think it was love?"

"I don't know what _love_ is, Christine. How am I supposed to know?" Erik snapped, his body turning rigid.

"Don't be like this Erik."

Erik sighed, covering his face and removing the mask. It was irritating his distortion and he knew he could remove it in her presence. "I felt like I never wanted to be parted from you, but when I awoke.. I felt afraid and like I wasn't worthy of you. You were too beautiful to be lying beside me."

"Ridiculous!" Christine chuckled softly, leaning to press her lips against his twisted cheek. "You felt love."

"Love?"

Christine nodded, letting her forehead rest against the side of his head. "Yes, Erik, love. Believe in it."

Erik sucked in a shaky breath, closing his eyes and reaching for her hand. "I have been hated and despised, feared and hunted for thirty-eight years of my life. Do you really believe I can so easily let that go? That I can trust."

"You can trust me, Erik." Christine pressed her lips against the mangled flesh again, "Trust me."

"You do not understand. I do not deserve you."

"Stop this Erik," Christine turned his head and pressed her lips to his. "You are the only person I feel like I deserve. I don't deserve you."

"Christine." Erik shook his head, "Thirty-eight years of being alone you cannot expect me to believe in everything you say. You promise me love, trust, understanding. I can't comprehend any of it."

"Then just let yourself enjoy it. I want you and only _you_ in my life. I will not let you leave me." Christine pressed her lips against his again, letting them move slowly against his trying to warm him up. He slowly moved his lips against hers, relishing in the feel of her lips again. He thought kissing her would change after they had been together. He expected everything to change, but they were still Erik and Christine. They were still an angel and a devil.

Erik turned to cup the back of her head, curving his fingers into her hair. He could be happy to be with her until his dying day. She made him happier than anything had ever made him feel, even killing.

"What do you feel?" Christine breathed as she pulled away from his lips, "How does this make you feel?"

Erik closed his eyes, rubbing his lips together as he thought. "It makes me feel happy. It makes me feel... Love."

"I love you Erik."

"I love you Christine. I do. I think I really do." Erik pulled her closer, pulling her onto his lap so he could engulf her in a tight embrace, burying his face into the crook of her neck. "I can't be perfect, but I can try for you."

"That's all I want Erik. That's all I need. I just need you and whatever you can give me." She buried her own face, inhaling deep breaths of his scent. "Just don't ever leave me again."

"I'm sorry." Erik murmured, pressing tender kisses to the curve of her neck. "I didn't want to leave you. I just couldn't stay and let you see what you had gone to bed with and vowed your life to."

"I went to bed with the man that I love. I vowed my life to him and him alone." Christine held to him, stroking her fingers through his hair.

"I thought you'd realise you made a mistake."

"The thought never entered-"

The door to the library swung open, Madame Giry's figure entering the room. They both turned to see her cold stare sweeping over their position. It was nowhere as bad as it could have been if she had entered the room when they had been together last night. Christine was certain that, that would have been the end of her staying with them.

"Pardon my _intrusion_," Madame Giry sneered as she shut the door quietly behind her. "I thought I should inform you that your breakfast is still in the kitchen. Also, there is stew in there as well that you both neglected to eat yesterday. I must say your absence has been delightful yet concerning."

Erik stared at her for a moment before turning his attention back to Christine, "When was the last time you ate?"

"Yesterday before I took the nap." Christine moved herself, reluctantly, from his lap. "I am famished."

"Come, we need to feed you." Erik rose, grabbing his mask and taking her hand.

Madame Giry watched them as they walked past, there was something different between. Something unusual about their long absence.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Who said that our dears Erik and Christine are out of the water yet? If you've read any of my work you would know that I like, no LOVE, drama and angst. On with the story!**

Madame Giry watched from the door way as Erik and Christine sat down at the table to eat their meal. She couldn't exactly point out what was different between them. Christine in particular seemed to be moving differently. She wasn't walking as gracefully and as dancer like as she typically did. She sat precariously on the edge of her seat, receiving sympathetic smiles from Erik.

Those clues answered the question. What had kept them in his room for so many hours, what made their body language change, and what made her walk carefully. They had been together. It surprised her that Christine had kept herself, unlike the majority of the ballet company. Especially when she had the Vicomte de Chagny as her suitor and fiancée. And so many in the company had suspected that she had earned his favour by sleeping with him.

But no, she had not given herself to the handsome and rich Vicomte she had laid with the monster that had attempted to kill her fiancée, burn down the opera house and kill many others. Christine was a sick and twisted child.

"Mother?" Meg questioned as she approached her, hesitantly reaching out to touch her shoulder. "What is wrong?"

"I believe we have been completely replaced by Christine."

"What do you mean?"

"Come," Antoinette took her daughter's hand leading her away from the doorway. "He has forsaken our constant support for Christine."

"But, she says the love each other." Meg smiled, enthralled by the romance of the situation.

"Love is drastically different from the support I have given him. My life has been devoted to his comfort and safety. I have given up so many aspects of my life to give him life. He gives no repayment. "

"But-"

"I need you to do something for me Meg." Madame Giry glared at her daughter, "I need you to keep this a secret. No running and telling the little harlot Christine."

"Mother!" Meg gasped, "Don't say something like that about Christine."

"Marguerite Giry you will listen to your mother!" Meg nodded slowly, her eyes downcast as she gnawed on her lip nervously. "You will take a letter to the Vicomte."

"No."

"Yes, you _will_." Madame Giry jerked Meg's chin up to stare her in the eyes. "You will take a letter to the Vicomte and tell him nothing more. The letter will be opened by only him. If you read the letter it will bode unfortunately for you."

"Mother," Meg whimpered as Madame Giry led her into one of the parlours. Taking parchment and a quill and scribbling a lengthy note. Sealing it with hot wax she handed it to her daughter.

"Take it. Tell no one."

"Please don't."

"Go!"

"Yes mother," Meg gulped as she scurried from the room and towards the back door of the house. How could she betray her closest friend but ignore her mother's orders? Her mother was a severe woman and you did not disobey her. She had done every little thing she had made her do since she could remember. It used to be trivial tasks around the opera house, but then one day the tasks became more urgent more serious. By the time she was thirteen she was using herself for tasks that needed to be tended to.

"_Oh Meg, my beautiful girl. There is a powerful and wealthy man here tonight. You must see to it that he wants to become a patron of the Opera House."_

"_My beautiful daughter, Lefarve needs a way to make ends meet this week. He must pay twenty thousand franks to the Opera Ghost and the show did not sell out. Make money the only way I have taught you how."_

"_Meg, you have a suitor. He wishes for you to visit him tonight at the __Château de Cygne. Remember what you are providing for."_

___She had kept secrets from Christine before. This wouldn't be any different. Christine didn't know where Meg had gone so many evenings after performances. She was never so open-mouthed as the other ballerinas were. That was her mother's doing. Couldn't have the ballet mistress's daughter whoring herself around. A scandal!_

___Meg would take the letter to Raoul. No matter how it destroyed her friend. _

~o~

Christine stared at the stairs as Erik started up the flight. She didn't want to complain about the ache she felt. Even if the steps seemed like looming giants that she had to conquer. Erik turned, looking down the steps at Christine. He motioned for her to follow before realising by the expression on her face she wasn't sure about them.

"I have read that the soreness will pass in a few days."

"A few days?" Christine laughed softly, taking a hesitant first step up the stairs. It hadn't hurt so much when she first went down the stairs that morning. Perhaps that had been because her heart was hurting from his abandonment.

"Here," Erik said softly as he made his way back down to her, scooping her up into a cradle in one fluid move. "Better?"

"Much," Christine chuckled, wrapping an arm around his shoulder securely.

"I'm sorry," Erik muttered as he carried her up the flight of stairs.

"You couldn't control the pain. It happens." Christine bit her lips, suddenly shy about the subject. "Perhaps next time there won't be pain. I've heard that said."

Erik let her down in the bedroom, keeping a hand at the small of her back to keep her steady. "You want there to be a next time?"

Christine nodded, feeling a blush spreading on her cheeks. "Yes."

"There shouldn't have been a first time and here I am fantasizing the next time." Erik shook his head with a laugh.

Christine's smile faded, "You do not want there to be a next time?"

Erik shrugged his shoulders, "I know there shouldn't be a next time. I shouldn't want there to be a next time. I don't deserve you, an angel taking a devil into her arms and accepting me. But I find myself wanting there to be a next time."

Christine rested her hand on his shoulder, "As long as you do not leave me again."

"I never want to leave you, Christine. I don't want to hurt you again. All I can do is hurt myself and hurt others. I just want to cherish you."

"Our song can start over now. A new sheet of music."

"Like two strands of melody at last entwined."

"Fulfil us, complete us. Make us whole. Seal our bond forever more."

Erik pushed his mask off his cheek, letting it tumble to the floor so that he could kiss her without hurting her. "Teach me how to love. Teach me how to turn pain into pleasure. Teach me not to hurt."

"I think I can manage something," Christine chuckled, rising on her toes and pressing her lips against his again. This was the Erik she wanted, desperate for her and yearning to be a better man. Nothing was ever going to separate them.


	18. Chapter 18

"Monsieur Vicomte?" Meg questioned nervously as she turned around to see who had entered the room.

"Where is Christine?" Raoul gritted as he stared at the ballerina standing in his parlour room. "Where is she?"

"Here." Meg held the letter out timidly, seeing it shake with her nerves. "Just take it please."

"What is it?" Raoul snatched the letter from her, "Is it from him?"

"No." Meg hesitated as she walked towards the door. Wanting to know what her mother had said and wanting to leave before she had to answer any questions.

"Meg," Raoul started as he read through the letter, "You may go. I have things I need to attend to."

"Yes Monsieur," Meg curtsied and then scurried from the parlour, letting the servant escort her to the front door. What had she done? Why had she betrayed her friend? Christine swore she hadn't loved Raoul, just the thought of him. She had pressured her to talk to him again to begin with.

"_How sweet would it be for childhood sweethearts to become the sweetest lovers?"_

Little did she know she was only confusing Christine's emotions. She fancied Raoul but she loved the Phantom. She could see that passion when Christine talked about her strange tutor. But now she had doomed Christine and her soul mate to the hell her mother created.

~o~

Christine rested her head against Erik's chest, sprawling her fingers out against his chest and running circles along the scars. He had said he wasn't going to leave but she figured if she fell asleep on him, he'd be less likely to leave her.

"I'm not leaving ma ange," Erik ran his fingers along the curve of her side. He wanted to leave; he felt that pull to run away from all of this. It terrified him to be put in this situation. Completely uncovered and exposed for Christine to see inside and out. Insecurities would always be the death of him.

Christine smiled, settling down beside him to lie more comfortably beside him. Erik glanced down at her, smirking at how innocent and young she looked with her tousled hair fanned out beneath her and the afterglow clinging to her pale skin. He loved her but he was afraid to fail her.

"What happens if.." Christine began but her voice faltered, she met his eyes and she wasn't sure if she could continue.

"What happens if what?"

"If.." Christine faded again, "Well. You know."

"No?"

Christine sighed, "Well, if I become." She gulped, swallowing the lump in her throat. "What if I become with child?"

Erik's eyes grew wide, that hadn't even crossed his mind. Somewhere in the darkest corner of his mind it had tugged at his thoughts but they were too caught up in other things that it had been brushed aside. "I do not know."

"What do you mean you do not know?"

"I mean, I don't know how we'll go about it all." Erik wrapped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him again. "I don't mean I don't know what I'll do. I mean in the larger scheme. Staying here, Antoinette, your fiancée, running away, my past. All of these complicated things that a child would be brought into."

"Oh," Christine let herself loosen up, she had stiffened in fear. Erik could be unpredictable and she was worried he would be against that happening. Not that either of them could control if they continued to be together. She wasn't naive, she knew how that worked.

"We'll face it, if it happens." Erik closed his eyes and tried to picture a normal life. His child, his wife. Those were things he never pictured being worthy of in his life. Not, at least, given to him. He had pictured marrying Christine, he had after all forced her into a wedding dress he had stolen for her. He was going to marry her that evening after _Don Juan_ and take her to his bed, whether she wanted to or not. He was tired of her betraying him with the fop.

But now things had changed. Christine had abandoned her safety net and had willingly given herself: voice, mind, soul, and body to him. It filled him with such a fearful happiness. He wasn't use to feeling bliss or what he had to believe was love.

"Do you want a baby?"

"No." Erik shook his head, "But I can accept it if it happens. I want you and that means that it's a possibility."

Christine took his hand in hers, intertwining their fingers. "The prices we pay in life."

There was a knock on the door; the door swung open giving them a split-second to cover themselves.

"Meg!"

"Keep your voice low," Meg hushed, covering her own mouth to keep from gasping at the state of her friend and the Phantom.

Erik reached for his mask that lay discarded on the bedside table, holding it carefully over his disfigurement. "What do you want?" He gritted, making sure his movements hadn't uncovered either of them.

"I have done something terrible."

"Meg, what is it?" Christine asked, brushing her hair back and trying to keep the embarrassment out of her voice.

"I'm so sorry." Meg couldn't fight her tears, "I took a letter for my mother."

"To who?" Erik growled, "Tell me now."

"To Raoul. To Raoul. Oh God. What have I done?" Meg sobbed into her hands, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry."

Erik jerked out of the bed, pulling Christine with him. Modesty aside they had to get dressed and leave as quickly as they could. "Make haste."

"What are you going to do?" Meg asked, baring herself in front of the door.

"That is none of your business." Erik bit, as he pulled his trousers on, shoving his shirt tails into them messily. "Go now."

"Erik, she told us. Give her that." Christine spoke softly, tying the laces of her corset over her chemise. "Meg, go and buy us time. Distract your mother and give us time."

Erik turned his head, staring at the boarded up window for a long moment before walking towards it.

"Erik?"

He ripped the board from the window, staring out at the street. "Do you hear that?"

"Barking." Meg gasped. "No."

"Christine dress quickly. There are gendarmes."

Christine stared at Erik as he rushed towards the door, pushing Meg aside and grabbing Christine's hand. "We have no time left."

"What are we going to do?"

"You have to go back to Raoul."

"What?" Christine clung to his arm as he tried to force her down the stairs. "No!"

"Go." Erik pleaded as there was a loud crash of wood and the dogs' barking was just below them. "I will find you."

"I can't go back." Christine pleaded.

"You have my promise." Erik pulled her close, kissing her once last time before leaving her at the top of the stairs. He vanished down the hall way into one of the rooms she had yet to investigate. She turned back and stared at the flight of stairs, the shouting was just below her. She could distinguish Raoul's voice in the mixture of sounds.

A petrifying thought entered her mind as she stared at the stairs. If she let herself fall it could be the end of her life. She wouldn't have to deal with being encaged by Raoul. But at the same time there was a shining possibility to be reunited with Erik.

"Christine!" Raoul shouted as he bounded up the stairs towards Christine. Catching her as she began to fall, wilting into his arms. "I have her! She's safe." Raoul called back down the stairs, pressing tender kisses into his fiancée. "She's taken to a fainting spell."


	19. Chapter 19

Christine slowly opened her eyes, desperately hoping that it had all been a nightmare. But, it was reality. She was lying in the bedroom she had been given several nights ago at the Manor de Chagny. Raoul was sitting in a chair close by, his chin resting on his chest as he slept quietly.

Christine shifted in the bed, scooting herself up and eyeing the window again. Could she make that escape again?

"Christine!" Raoul jerked from his sleep, shouting her name as he sat up. "Oh, Christine you are here. Little Lotte, sweet little Lotte." Raoul sat on the edge of the bed, holding her hand and kissing it over and over.

"I am fine Raoul." Christine replied, trying to figure out what would be her best method of action. "Did you catch him?"

Raoul stared at her for a moment before answering, "The gendarmes reported that he came from an upper floor window and ran down one of the alleyways. They sent the dogs after him and heard a scream. When the dogs came back there was blood on their muzzles but no body was found."

Christine stared at him wide-eyed and fearful, praying silently to God to keep her angel safe. But playing sympathetic to her captor was not going to be helpful with Raoul. "Good riddance." She bit, trying and failing to sound hostile.

"Did he-" Raoul shook his head, "That's not a very polite thing to ask you. I'm sorry."

Christine clung to his hand, knowing she had best act her way through this like any show she'd been in. "Did he what?"

"Take what is rightfully mine when we marry?" Raoul rasped, cupping her cheek in his hand and staring down into her blue eyes. Christine wanted to be staring up at green eyes and not Raoul's brown ones.

Christine closed her eyes, acting as if the very thought was revolting to her. When, in actuality, the thought sent blissful shivers down her spine. "Yes."

"Oh Christine!" Raoul gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, "I am sorry that, that murderer put his hands on you in places that are meant for our matrimony."

"Please Raoul," Christine shook her head, "I need to rest."

"I will have a physician come and check you over." Raoul leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips.

"Thank you Raoul," Christine whispered, trying her best to hide the disgust that threatened to overwhelm her. She bit her lip and watched Raoul watching her sympathetically, "I'll be fine."

"Would you like me to stay?"

Christine cast her gaze down at her hands, "If you don't mind, I would like to be alone."

"I understand, rest well." Raoul pressed a kiss to the top of her head and left her there in the bed. "I will come back to check on you in a few hours."

"Thank you," Christine whispered faintly, leaning back into the pillows and pretending to rest.

No sooner than she heard the door close behind Raoul then she heard a quiet tapping on the window pane that lead out to the balcony. Her eyes flew open and she leapt from the bed, rushing to the window.

"Erik," She gasped as she unlocked the latch and let him stumble in, catching him as he lost his balance. "You shouldn't be here. It's not safe."

"I didn't know where to go." Erik clutched his side as Christine held steady.

"What happened?"

"I was shot by those damn gendarmes."

"Raoul didn't tell me that part."

Erik stared at her for a moment, "I patched myself up as best as I could."

"He said the dogs-" Christine studied him as best as she could while holding him up. The good side of his face had blood drying where he had been bitten, his hands that clung to her arms for support were blood stained. "Oh Erik."

"I'll be fine, I'll be fine." Erik's knees failed him and he sagged heavily against her.

"I don't know what to do with you, you shouldn't have come here. What if Raoul comes back in?" Christine helped him sit down on the edge of her bed, noticing that her chemise was stained with his blood. "Oh."

"I couldn't go back to the house," Erik replied, hanging his head low. Christine took his wounded hands in her hands, kissing them sorrowfully. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Erik. Don't ever be sorry. We'll find a way to be together." Christine could feel her heart breaking at the thought of never being with Erik again. "Erik, Raoul said that he was sending a physician to check on me. We need to get you concealed somehow."

"I'll stand on the balcony. I was there for awhile when Raoul was here." Erik's emerald eyes met her blue ones, "You handled the situation well."

"I hated having to lie about our time together." Christine leaned towards him and pressed her lips against his misshapen and bloated lips, washing away the taste of Raoul on her lips. "It's you that I love."

"I know." Erik murmured, letting her rest her forehead against his. "Try to get some sort of wrapping for these wounds."

"I will." Christine whispered.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I fainted because I'd stopped breathing during the chaos."

"But you're fine."

"I'm much better now that I know you're alive." Christine pressed her lips against his again, a greedy open mouthed kiss.

"Help me back to the balcony," Erik said slowly as she pulled back from the kiss. Christine held her hands out for him to take, leading him back towards the window.

"You'll be alright?"

"For now." Erik noticed her dress in the pale moonlight, "Your dress."

"It'll be fine." Christine kissed his disfigured cheek as she left him there on the balcony. She shut the window back, latching the lock and pulling the curtain closed. She didn't want him to see what she was going to do next.

She looked around the room, looking for anything that would account for the crimson stains that were smeared on the pale dress. There were no knives or letter openers, nothing that would do accidental damage.

Could she honestly inflict herself with an injury and let it seem like she meant to do it?

There was a vanity; she had seen Erik break a mirror before in anger. She balled her petite hand into a fist, punching it against the glass with no success. She was not strong enough to break the glass or was not swinging with enough power.

Taking a deep breath she reeled back and swung again. Screaming out in sudden pain as the glass shattered against her hand. The glass clattered to the marble top of the vanity, stained red from her hand.

Christine stared at her fist, shards of glass protruding from the skin.

What was this madness that she was succumbing to? She had imagined herself falling down a flight of stairs to end her life and now she was inflicting damage to her, once perfect, skin.

The bedroom door swung open, Raoul stood in horror at the scene he saw. "Christine!" He rushed towards her, pulling her away from the vanity. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know." She lied, playing innocent and confused. "I don't know."

"Come on, the physician is downstairs."

"No!" Christine pried herself from Raoul's arms. "I want to stay here."

"Christine," Raoul said firmly but he could see the fear in her eyes. "I'll bring him up."

Christine held her burning hand as she sank to the floor. The physician was going to say she was fit for Bedlam. She might think she was sane but no one else would see her as it.


	20. Chapter 20

**I hope by now you all have realised I like using realistic illness for my characters to be suffering from to behave the way they do. Yes, Christine is suffering from a mild (but pretending to be sever) case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. I would like to take this time now to discuss Erik's mental state. (sorry for the boringness of this)**

**Erik is probably suffering from Social Anxiety Disorder, Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, as well as Bipolar. For him I would say that they are all situation induced because of his abuse by the Gypsies. **

**I like using real illnesses because it gives characters humanistic ties and for me they become much more real. Anyways, enough medical rambling. Here's chapter 20!**

**~o~**

"You're all patched up, and should be alright now." The physician said as he finished wrapping Christine's hands. He exchanged looks with Raoul that made Christine's stomach flop. They were silently discussing that Christine was not truly well right now.

"Could you leave more bandaging?" Christine asked as the physician was placing his tools back in his medical bag. "I'm afraid it may come off in my sleep."

"Of course," The physician sat the stack of wrappings on the bedside table.

"I know this is a more sensitive topic, but it needs to be discussed." Raoul began, taking Christine's undamaged hand in his hand. "Is there anything to be done if.. Well, if she becomes pregnant because of being raped."

Christine gulped, her eyes darting to her belly. If she was pregnant she wanted this baby more than anything Raoul could ever provide her with. No one was going to touch it.

"There are different elixirs that claim to terminate pregnancies. If the time comes then we'll discuss the methods." The physician replied, heading towards the bedroom door. "I'll show myself out."

"What on earth do you think that you were doing?" Raoul questioned, soothing his hand over her hair. "You could have seriously hurt yourself."

"I don't know what happened." Christine confessed as she stared at her hand. Her hand was burning and she couldn't believe that she had done it to herself. She hadn't even thought about it, she only meant to protect Erik, whatever the cost.

"I'm going to stay here with you Christine. Just until you're asleep." Raoul cupped her cheek, admiring his poor fiancée. He had discussed with the physician the many things that could be wrong with her. People could so easily be disturbed after what she had been through. Christine had never been completely sane, for as long as he knew her. She was so childlike and that monster had preyed on that aspect of her.

"Thank you Raoul," Christine whimpered, leaning back into her pillows. She hoped that if she went along with him he would let her be and she could help Erik.

"Everything's going to get better, _Little Lotte_." Raoul set on the edge of the bed, gently caressing her cheek.

"I am very tired Raoul," Christine let her eyes flutter shut, despite feeling wide awake and anxious.

It seemed like hours before Raoul left the bedroom finally, satisfied that Christine was actually asleep. But, Christine slipped from her covers and nimbly moved towards the window, throwing back the lock and tearing the door open.

"Erik!" She whispered, finding him resting against the balcony.

He looked up slowly, taking deep laboured breaths. "I am well."

Christine helped him up, aiding him into the bedroom. "I am sorry it took so long, I worked as quickly as I could."

"Your hand?" Erik asked as she helped him sit down on the edge of the bed, letting her exam his own hands.

"It's nothing."

Erik's eyes were drawn to the shattered mirror, "Christine why did you hurt yourself?"

Christine tore the bandaging with her teeth before starting to wrap his hands. "Because it had to be done."

"No more bloodshed because of me." Erik closed his eyes and breathing slowly, letting her mend his wounds.

"Where will you go?"

His eyes opened and he stared at her, studying her face. "I will find somewhere to hide myself. They will be expecting me to return to the Opera House. There are crypts bellow Notre Dame where I can hide myself." Erik's eyes glanced to Christine's stomach before glancing back up to her eyes. "If you are with child, do _not _let him take it from us."

"I would never think of it."

"The filthy man that thinks riding the world of a child, already conceived in a woman's belly. Growing inside and making her stomach to swell. Murder." Erik hissed, reaching towards her stomach.

"We do not know if I am with child Erik. Time will tell. I will protect our child."

"You cannot protect yourself or a child if you are harming yourself." Erik took her hand bandaged hand in his bandaged hand.

"It was the only thing I knew to do to account for blood and to get us bandaging. Now, you said you were shot."

"It is bandaged now, I am fine. It hardly hurts." Erik shifted in his seat, touching his dog bitten cheek hesitantly. "They had to go for my unmarred cheek."

"I would love you the same even if your whole face was horribly disfigured. I love you and not your half face.

"Christine," Erik leaned up towards her, beckoning her down with one of his long musician's fingers. Christine met his lips, smiling into the kiss. How long would it be until she saw him again? Raoul would hardly think of letting her into the city alone after what had happened. Erik would be increasingly endangered sneaking into the de Chagny Manor many more times.

"This.." Erik broke away from her lips, touching his chest tenderly. "This feeling in my soul in my heart. It swells like a singer in the midst of beautiful melody. It makes me feel dizzy and engulfed. This is love?"

"Yes Erik." Christine nodded her head, trying to fight the tear she felt welling in her eyes.

"I love you."


	21. Chapter 21

One agonizingly long month and a half was spent in the de Chagny Manor. Christine could only be thankful that Raoul had allowed her to leave her room and have more freedom within the walls of the manor. He had even let her sing to him some evenings after supper. She could tell that he was trying his best to give her everything she could want. He had even offered to buy her one of the little poodles he had seen at the Opera House, but she said she was no Carlotta.

One month and the maids had not had to change crimson stained sheets. Could she honestly be pregnant? Now she would have to come up with some clever way to persuade Raoul to let her keep the child.

They had already been discussing their marriage. Raoul wanted to have it two months from now, to insure for certain that she was not growing the Devil's Child. He was not shy about voicing his opinions of Erik, convinced that Christine hated the man as much as he did. Little did he know that she had seen since she had been "rescued".

"Raoul, may I take a turn of the gardens?"

"Would you like me to escort you?" Raoul asked, touching her shoulder gently.

"No, I would like to be alone. I won't be long, promise." Christine took his hand and smiled, "I would like to be alone to talk to my father."

"Of course," Raoul smiled, kissing her fingers gently. "I'll be in my study when you return."

Christine pressed her lips against his cheek before leaving the room and making her way outside into the apple orchard and the beautiful lush green gardens behind the manor. It was a nice, calming, place to go when she needed to let go of everything.

"Oh, Father. I know that I do not need to go to your grave to be near you. But, give me your strength to soldier through this life. I fear, I'll be here forever and never be able to escape this place. Raoul, he's a good man Father, you know he was always sweet to me as a child – but he is not the man I love." Christine walked into the hedge garden, "Father, please if you can work some heavenly trick so that I may leave this prison and return to Erik. He told me once that he knew you. You told him to protect me, and Father he has protected me. Every part of me. I want _him_ to protect me for the rest of my life."

"Christine."

She turned around quickly, looking around the hedges for wherever that voice came from. "Who's there?"

"Through the hedge." The voice came, obscured by the thick bushes between them. Christine hesitantly continued to walk around the corner.

"Erik!" She shouted, staring at him in disbelief. She hadn't seen him in long over a month. "You're here."

"I am." He gave her a half smile from beneath his mask. He was dressed finely, in better appearances than the ragged and injured way he had looked before. Even his bites had healed on his unmarred cheek. "For you."

Christine glanced at the blood red rose in his hand, tied with the little black ribbon. "What if Raoul sees me with that?"

"I was planning to leave it on your balcony." Erik handed it to her, smiling as their fingers brushed when she took it. "How are you?"

Christine brought the rose up to her nose, inhaling the sweet smell. "I'm doing better than I was expecting to be. I wish it weren't like this though." Erik stepped forward and touched her cheek. "I've missed you."

"Has the fop kissed you?" Erik asked possessively, his eyes flickering between her lips and eyes.

"I have no choice but to let him kiss me. He is after all my fiancé." Christine traced her finger along his cheekbone, trailing it across his bottom lip. "However, his kiss is nothing like the kiss of this man, oh what was his name? I believe I am married to him despite it being only words muttered in the throes of passion."

A growl echoed in Erik's throat as he leaned forward hastily, pressing a fierce kiss into her lips. Christine hissed, breaking away from the kiss when his mask cut into her upper lip.

"I'm sorry," Erik said closing his eyes and shaking his head. "I shouldn't have-"

"A lie can easily cover it up. I'm becoming quite clever with my lies." Christine gave a forced smile as she touched the small slice on her lip. "That's an easy lie to tell. But I have a much bigger one I need to come up with."

"And what is that?"

"I am with child."

Erik's eyes shot wide as he stared at her, unmoving and silent. With child? With his child? It was impossible to imagine. And some bastard fop was going to try and take the infant from them if he found out. "A child?"

"I think I am. I know signs for it and I have them. I have not had my cycle this month or this month. I also feel queasy most mornings. I am sure the maids will tell him they have not changed crimson sheets."

"Oh, Christine. My Christine." Erik took her hands in his. "I want to take you away from here. We can be together somewhere. What will it take to let us be together?"

"I fear that if we try to leave now, Raoul would have the gendarmes at the boarders of Paris and we would be trapped. I can't lose you." Christine shook his hands away and wrapped her arms around his chest, burying her face into his waistcoat.

"Ma petite ange." Erik whispered, pressing kisses onto the top of her head.

"We must plan our escape before the beginning of the new month."

"Why?"

"Raoul wanted to wait three months before we were married, to make sure I was not having your child." Christine felt a shiver run down her spine at those words. She cared deeply for Raoul, she could live with being married to him if Erik was not in the picture. "If I find some way to give the illusion I am not pregnant it will buy us time. I do not know how to insist that I want our baby since I am claiming that you raped me."

"You are clever." Erik let a forced laugh escape his lips. "I am sure you'll come up with something." He tried to imagine feeling a bump between them when she would begin to swell with the child. Their child. He had never imagined this happening to him, considering no woman had even dared lay with him, even paid or held at knife point.

"Please stay safe, Erik. It was dangerous for you to come here in broad daylight. You should have come this evening."

Erik smirked, "No matter how tempting that offer is, I think we should keep our distance from being discovered by Raoul."

"He could come to the gardens and see you here."

"Come now, a hedge maze and myself? I will always have the upper hand with trickery." Erik pressed his forehead against hers, glancing down at the little droplet of blood.

Christine reached behind his head, loosening the ties and prying the mask from his face carefully. She wasn't sure if he'd used his paste or not. Erik wasted no time to press his lips against hers, savouring the sweet feel of her. He pulled back staring into her eyes before hesitantly flicking his tongue out to swipe away the blood.

"I should go before-"

Christine rose up on her toes pressing her lips against his again and kissing him passionately. She wasn't quite ready for him to leave yet. His hands rested on her hips, pulling her flush against him as their mouths warred. Her fingers were tangled in his thick hair near the back of his head.

She used to be embarrassed that she imagined what kissing her strange tutor would be like. Imagining their bodies entwining in shameful, passionate ways. Once she had learned how it was to be with him, she didn't want anyone but him. Her Erik.

Erik stepped forward, pressing her against the shrubbery. The branches pressing against his hands and threatening to pierce her dress. "Stop." He rasped, breaking away from her lips for oxygen.

"Yes," Christine nodded breathlessly pushing away from his body reluctantly. "I'm sorry."

"Its fine," Erik smoothed his fingers through his dishevelled hair and replaced his mask. He coughed, clearing his throat and trying to focus his mind on something other than the laces on her dress and how easy they would be to remove. The shrubbery wouldn't be very supportive but they would make due. He shook his head trying to clear the thoughts that were drowning him. "I'm going to go now."

"I'll come up with some idea. We _will_ be together." Christine held his hand one last time before he vanished down through the hedges.

~o~

Christine sat in her bed, resting before dinner was going to be served. She was reading some adventure book that Raoul had mentioned she would probably enjoy. It wasn't anything like the two books she had read at the house. This novel was tame.

Christine shifted on her white sheets, feeling something suddenly wet beneath her. There was a crimson stain there where she lay, staining her pale blue dress and the bed.

She wasn't pregnant. How would she tell Erik the next time she saw him? The wedding would be sooner then. Raoul would have his proof that Christine was not having the demon's spawn. Christine covered her face as she felt tears burning in her eyes.

She had been so certain that she was with child. She had all of the signs she had heard about. Could it be a mistake? If Raoul married her she would have no power to resist her matrimonial duties to him, even if her heart was being held by another man.

She had wanted to have Erik's child. A family with him was all she could picture in her mind. Raoul seemed like a ghost of her youth.

**A/N: Anonymous user "Erik Destler" you have made my day. (: I'm always flattered when people enjoy my work and your name made my day when I read it. I'm glad to be a humble servant of the Opera Ghost *bows***

**Also, just in case some of you think that perhaps Christine miscarried. No. Because of the stress she has been going through her cycle was disrupted. She was never pregnant. Perhaps she will be eventually. But with who's child?**


	22. Chapter 22

Raoul hesitantly entered Christine's bedroom, finding her standing on the balcony. "How are you?" He asked as he strode across the room towards her.

"I'm doing well," Christine lied as she gave him a bright smile. "I am just thanking God for what he has done for us."

"It's a true blessing that you are not carrying that monster's child." He said coldly, wrapping his arm around her waist. He looked down at her, seeing tears brimming in her eyes. "It's alright Christine. He's never going to touch you again."

Christine nodded her head numbly, letting herself loosen up in his arms. She didn't want him suspicious about her stiffness. "I don't know what would have happened if I had been pregnant."

"We don't have to think about that because you weren't. We can focus on our wedding and our future family." Raoul pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Think of your stomach swelling with our son or daughter."

Christine smiled, restating the urge to tense up as he ran his hand over her stomach. "Yes, our baby."

"We will marry at the end of this month. I do not want to wait any longer to be with you." Raoul ran his hand up the small of her back, turning so he could press his lips into hers. Christine tensed, pushing away from him. "Christine?"

"I'm sorry." She replied shyly, casting her eyes down to the floor. "You took me by surprise."

"No, I'm sorry. I should have known you're still recovering from everything. Don't apologize."

Christine bit her lip, "You are too kind to me Raoul."

"That's because I love you." Raoul cupped her cheek, smiling at her with his chocolate eyes.

"I.." Christine felt her heart lurch at the thought of the words she had to reply with. "Love you too."

"Would you like me to let you rest?" Raoul ran his fingers through her hair, smiling at her sympathetically.

"If you don't mind." Christine replied, touching Raoul's chest tenderly. "I will see you at breakfast."

"Rest well." Raoul pressed his lips to her forehead before leaving her bedroom.

Christine sank to the ground, pressing her cheek against the bars of the balcony. She felt terrible for deceiving Raoul. He had good intentions and a kind heart. If life were different and she had never met the Phantom of the Opera, only Raoul as a patron and she nothing more than a chorus girl she wouldn't mind being with him.

~o~

Then end of the month came far sooner than Christine had expected it to arrive. She had one week before she became Countess de Chagny. No sign of Erik coming to rescue her from her fate. The wedding had been publically announced throughout Paris. Though it was more gossip than truth. _"Chorus girl turned star to wed the Vicount de Chagny. After the ruination of the Opera Populaire love is in the air."_

It was far from love. If Raoul only knew that he was the one forcing Christine into a lie of a life.

"Raoul, may I please take one of the horses to the Graveyard? Alone. I must speak to my father for the last time as a Daae." Christine asked over the midmorning brunch they were having. Raoul dropped his knife at her question.

"Do you think it is safe?" Raoul questioned, studying his fiancé's face. "I will send gendarmes along with you."

"Please, no. I just want to be alone with my father. You must understand."

Raoul sighed, "There has been no sign of the monster. He is probably curled up, dead, in some catacomb. Like the wounded creature he is. "

"Raoul!" Christine scorned, letting her brows furrow together. "There is no reason to speak ill of the dead."

"After what he did to you, he deserves far worse than me mocking his death." Raoul shook his head, "I do not understand why you still insist to protect him."

"I," Christine began, searching for the right words. "I will also be bound to him by the music he captivated me with."

"Our wedding night will break his spell over you." Raoul replied boldly, nibbling at the pastry in his hand. "If it makes you happy then I will let you go."

"Thank you." Christine excused herself from the table and made her way to the stables to get one of the stable hands to saddle up a horse for her.

It was nice to finally be able to get away from Raoul and the manor and be free. She didn't doubt that Raoul would panic if she didn't return in a reasonable time. It shouldn't take her very long to arrive at the Graveyard and speak to her father's mausoleum. She had spent so much time speaking to her father over the past weeks, but she needed to see his grave one last time with her maiden name. Despite the fact that she was "married" to Erik, she knew it was not legal or truly binding.

Christine pulled her cloak around her tighter as she approached the mausoleum. She remembered the time she came here before and Erik had been here. Of course it was not on pleasant terms them. Raoul had come and they had fought. The memory was dizzying.

"Papa," Christen whispered as she kneeled in front of the mausoleum, staring at the massive marble structure. "Please protect me. You promised me that you would always keep me safe once you were gone. But, here I am only days before I am to marry Raoul. Papa, he is a good man but I do not love him. It is like condemning me to a life without music. I need that music in my life. I need Erik."

"Christine." The voice echoed from inside of the mausoleum. "Christine."

"Erik!" She breathed as she stared into the darkness of the crypt. "Is that you?"

"Yes my angel." He replied as he appeared to her. "I came to speak to your father. To beg him to work some deal with God to let me, a pitiful demon have this angel as mine."

"An answer to our prayer." Christine rose slowly, reaching out for Erik's hand. "Erik, I am not pregnant."

"Ah," She could see a reflection of sadness in his eyes. "But you are well? With child or not."

"I would be better if I wasn't marrying Raoul." Christine wrapped her arms around Erik's form, resting her cheek against his chest and hearing his heart echoing in her ear. "Please, we can leave now. We have this chance at freedom, let's take it."

Erik sighed, "What if I cannot care for you? A life of running is not what you are fit for."

"Please." Christine begged, reaching up to remove his mask. "Raoul speaks of our wedding night and it makes me sick. I want only you. You Erik."

"Christine your words cut me to the core." Erik cupped her cheeks, staring down into her eyes. "I love you."

"Then let us take the horse and go."

"But sometimes you must love someone so passionately that you have to let them go."

"No." Christine clutched to his jacket.

"Christine, I want you to be safe." Erik showered her cheeks with kisses, "I am not fit to care for you."

"But I am happy with you."

"I have been thinking about everything Christine. I am willing to be without you if it keeps you safe. Raoul can keep you safe."

Christine pulled his head towards hers, pressing her lips against his. The kiss was passionate and sorrowful. She couldn't imagine her life without him. She couldn't imagine how he could want to be without her. "Please."

"Christine," He groaned, turning them suddenly and pressing her against the cool marble mausoleum. "I just want you to be safe."

"A life without music."

"I can't give you the world you deserve." Erik ran his hands up and down along her sides, "I cannot be the man you need in your life."

"You would let _the fop_ have me?" Christine hissed, pressing herself against him. She shocked herself at how wanton he could make her be. He was intoxicating.

"My Christine, you will always be my Christine." Erik kissed the curve of her neck, running his hand down past the curve of her hips, begging her to wrap a leg around his waist. "I took you first. I made you mine. I will always have your heart and soul, mind and voice. But I am not deserving of your body."

"You claim you prayed for father to let us be together. Here I am." Erik nipped at her collarbone as he pushed her against the wall fiercely. "Erik, please." Her voice was heavy with lust and love.

Could she honestly let him take her beside the grave of her father, within the mausoleum where her father's remain lay. If Erik was serious about letting her marry Raoul, then this would be their last time together.

No matter how wrong it seemed to commit such an act there in the graveyard, in broad daylight, within the crypt of her father, a week before her wedding. It seemed so right.

**Again "Erik Destler" your reviews make me excited! I'm honoured to have the Opera Ghost reading my stories. I hope I do you great justice! **


	23. Chapter 23

Christine straightened her dress out, leaning heavily against the now warm marble wall for support. Erik was wrapping his cravat around his neck, fumbling with it as he glanced at Christine. He hated that he had made her cry. That he made her cry as many times as he had. Her tear stained, flushed cheeks broke his heart.

"I'm sorry."

"Please don't, Erik." She stepped away from the wall, testing her ability to stand. Her knees felt like water. "Please, just don't."

"I just want you to be safe." Erik confessed, reaching to take her hands into his and holding them. "I don't want to leave you."

"Then why?"

"Because I don't deserve you-" He hushed Christine as she tried to speak, "I have had plenty of time to think about all of this Christine. You are deserving of the beautiful de Chagny Manor and a handsome, wealthy husband. I cannot imagine such an ethereal beauty living her life on the run from one abandoned house to another with a half faced monster."

"But I want only you."

"In time you'll learn to be happy with the fop." Erik cupped her cheek, staring into her sad eyes. "I will always be with you in your heart."

"I don't have a heart if you are not there." Christine pleaded, on the verge of crying again.

"You should be getting back to him. I don't want him coming out in search of you and finding us here."

"Please, Erik!" Christine clutched at his hands as he started to step away.

"Christine you taught me what love means. You taught me that to love someone you have to do what is best for them. I see that I have to let you go because I love you." Erik leaned towards her and kissed her again, slowly and gently.

"Erik." Christine gasped as he left her in the mausoleum in the blink of an eye. "Forgive me father, for I have sinned." Christine knelt to the ground and cried.

~o~

The longest week of her life. Wedding plans and arrangements were being made. Her dress had the final adjustments made to it. de Chagny relations had started to arrive for the ceremony. Christine was being kept busy with everything that she had been able to think about Erik.

When the morning finally came when she was dressed in her bridal gown it all seemed surreal. She was walking down the aisle towards Raoul de Chagny, her childhood sweet heart but not the man she loved. Erik had taken her heart with him when he vanished from her life, she was never going to be able to return what Raoul offered to her.

How could Erik let this happen? He hated Raoul, he fought to have Christine as his own. But where was he when she needed him the most?

Gone.

"We are gathered together to celebrate the holy matrimony of the Viscount Raoul de Chagny and Christine Daae."

The vows seemed empty and lifeless to Christine. They were nothing in comparison to the words Erik had spoken to her in the heat of their never dying passion. Raoul was nothing in comparison to Erik. That would never change.

"I do." Christine heard herself say when it was her time to mutter the vows. She felt like it was a terrible nightmare and that she would wake up any moment from it. But as Raoul, smiling happily, slipped the ring onto her finger she realised the weight of what was happening.

Married to Raoul. The Countess de Chagny.

"You may now kiss the bride."

Raoul leaned towards her, kissing her softly and tenderly. His kiss didn't fill her with the excitement or happiness that Erik's did. It only made her feel cold and empty inside.

What had they done?

"Christine are you well?" Raoul asked as he led her down the aisle. "You don't look well."

"I'm just overwhelmed." Christine replied numbly as she leaned against him for support. The throbbing in her ears became too much, the swirling darkness that invaded her vision forced her to succumb to it. She tumbled to the ground.

"Christine!" Raoul shouted, gathering his wife in his arms. "Someone fetch water and smelling salts."

She had fainted so many times in her life. Partially to do with the tight corsets she was forced to wear and her habit of forgetting to breathe when she wasn't singing. The rest it brought was always invigorating; she would awake feeling rested and ready to continue on with the rest of her day. But this time she wanted to give into the darkness of her mind and let its tendrils encase her and hold her forever. At least inside her mind the imprisonment was her own choice.

~o~

Erik balled his fists as he watched Christine stumble to the ground. How could you loom in the shadows of the garden and watch is one true love marrying that fop? How could he stand by and watch his angel giving her life away to an undeserving rich man. Raoul would never appreciate Christine for who she truly was.

Nor would Raoul ever know the true passionate artist he had married.

He wanted to rush towards her collapsed figure, take his rapier to the fop and gather her into his arms.

But he would only be damning his angel to an eternal life of hell. He wouldn't let her fall, even if it meant her wings would have to be clipped for a life with the fop. She was made of finer stuff. Perhaps Raoul would never see her full potential like he did, but at least he would keep her well cared for and protected.

"It's over now, the music of the night." Erik sang quietly as he watched Raoul trying to wake Christine back up. As he sang those lyrics he saw Christine jerk awake, her eyes darting around the garden.

She knew she had heard that voice? Erik's voice. Could it have just been the echoing remnants of a life she would never know now?

"Erik." She breathed as she sat up.

"What?" Raoul asked, taken aback by her sudden movements.

"I ache," Christine covered, quickly holding her head. That was the only thing that sounded close to her lover's name.

Erik slipped deeper into the garden, afraid she would see him and ruin everything. He had barely sang above a whisper, how had she heard him?

~o~

"Raoul, if you do not mind." Christine began quietly after they had retired from the wedding reception that was still busily carrying on bellow in the ballroom and parlour rooms.

"Christine," Raoul turned and kissed her suddenly, taking her by surprise.

"Raoul!" She pushed him away by the shoulders. "I was going to say that I am not ready."

"But," Raoul looked hurt by her rejection. "It is not you first time. I promise you it will be nothing like his animalistic rutting."

"Raoul!" She gasped, offended by his blunt wording. "Please, do not say things like that."

"Christine, I have been waiting for what feels like a lifetime to be with you."

"If you have waited a lifetime a day means nothing."

"But I am expected to leave for Bordeaux tomorrow morning." Raoul snapped, staring at his wife angrily. "You know I will be gone for two months."

"I am sorry. But I do not feel well."

"I can make you feel better," Raoul replied, lustfully trying to press a kiss to her lips again. She turned her head, forcing him to kiss her cheek. "Christine."

"No Raoul."

"You are my wife and you will do as I want!" Raoul grabbed her wrist as she tried to slip away from him.

"Let go of me." Christine trembled as she pulled at his hold. "Please don't do this."

"I want you."

"If you take me now you will be no better than he is." Christine snarled, knowing that though it was a lie to her the words would cut him to the core.

"I'm sorry." Raoul stepped back, straightening his cravat and waistcoat in an effort to ignore his longing to be with Christine. "I suppose two months will only make our desire stronger."

"Yes." Christine forced a smile. "It will give me time to recover mentally from everything."

"Sleep well." Raoul bowed to her, kissing her hand gently.

Christine slipped into her bedroom, quickly shedding her wedding attire and donning her night gown. The moon shone full through her balcony windows. She pushed them open and stepped out onto the moon bathed balcony, enjoying the cool wind that nipped at her skin.

Little did she know that down on the ground, her masked phantom stood watching her. Wondering where her husband was on their wedding night. Perhaps the short amount of time between their exit from the ballroom to know was how long the fop lasted.

He would always watch his Christine at a safe distance.


	24. Chapter 24

From what Erik could gather, Raoul's hasty union with Christine had proven quite profitable for him. She was petite, she would have had a difficult time hiding a pregnancy if she had been pregnant with their child. At least Christine and Raoul's child was within a legal marriage and would be provided for.

He wanted to go to her and hold her in his arms just one more time. It would be safe with her fian-husband away from the Manor. But it would only complicate the situation for them both. Especially with her being with child. Even if her heart was not Raoul's the child growing in her womb was his.

"Once upon another time, we did what we thought must be done."

~o~

Christine leaned against the balcony and rested her hand on her stomach. She had to curse the petite frame she was given. What would Raoul say when he returned from his trip and found his wife swollen with someone else's child. She had refused him the right to their wedding night and still found herself pregnant.

She knew who's child it was. It was Erik's child. They're passionate lovemaking inside her father's mausoleum had given them the child she wished she had first conceived. But where was he now to share that joy? Where would he be when Raoul insisted to cast her out of the manor, believing her to be a harlot or whore? Where would he be if she convinced Raoul she had conceived the night of her "rape" and he tried to make her lose the baby?

Where was her angel of music when she needed him?

"Once upon another time, our story had only begun. You chose to turn the page."

It was some sort of cruel punishment. You do not commit adultery on your father's grave without punishment. Her heart may belong to Erik, but she was to marry Raoul. In the eyes of God she committed a great sin.

Now she was paying for it by being pregnant with Erik's child while being married to Raoul.

He was due back today.

Christine knew he was expecting their wedding night at last. He had no doubt been awaiting it since he departed after their wedding. But he would arrive to find her once slender, toned belly starting to swell with another man's baby.

Their marriage would be over or the baby's life would be over.

~o~

Christine paced back and forth across the floor of the parlour room. Anxiously waiting for the sound of Raoul's carriage rolling up the drive way. Her stomach was twisted in painful knots, scared and nervous about everything that was going to happen when Raoul arrived.

Then she heard the distant sound of the carriage rolling up the driveway, the dogs barking and the sound of the horses' hooves hitting the packed dirt.

"Father please protect me."

The door burst open. Raoul's face brightened when he saw Christine. He rushed towards her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight to him. Christine felt him tense; she cringed as he pulled away from her.

"Christine?"

"Yes Raoul?"

"Were you starved at the Opera House and now have had good food in your belly every day to flesh you out?"

"Raoul," She bit her lip, staring down at his feet.

"Whose is it? What servant have you been screwing? What stable boys have you fu-"

"Raoul!" Christine gasped, "I would hope you would have more faith in your wife."

"I don't know. She is disconnected from our wedding, denies me _my _wedding night, and I return two months later to find her stomach swollen with some bastard's brat. You tell me how much faith I have in my wife."

"Raoul," She began, cut off by tears and sobs. "I am sorry."

"Was it him?"

"Who?"

"Did he find his way into my house to bed what is mine one more time?"

"No."

"Liar." Raoul growled, slapping his hand across her cheek.

Christine clutched her throbbing cheek, the force of his slap was blinding, disorienting her for a moment. "I am sorry Raoul. I'm so sorry."

"You are my wife!" Raoul snarled, jerking her towards him by her fragile wrists. "_Mine_."

Christine sucked in a breath of air, pulling away from him with all of her might. "I will never be yours. I was never yours to begin with!"

"What do you mean?" Raoul stared at her, teeth gritting, jaw hardest. "Speak now, you little deceitful bitch."

"You think I'm vain don't you? You think I am only looking for a handsome man to be with? Childhood sweethearts who fall in love and marry. Wrong. So wrong. I don't want the sweet tender love of a handsome fop! I want the unbridled passion of a demon possessed my rage and undying love."

"You have betrayed me."

"I have betrayed myself." Christine corrected, breaking free of Raoul's grasp for only a second before he was snatching her back. "Let go of me!"

"You are mine Christine. You are my wife. I own you."

"Our marriage is not consummated."

"I could claim your bastard as mine to keep you bound to me." Raoul smirked coldly, his hands leaving marks as they gripped her pale arms.

"You would raise the Phantom's child as your own?" Christine bit her lip to keep from crying in pain.

"Don't be foolish. One drop into something you'll eat or drink and 'It was terrible how she miscarried our first child'. 'Oh, it must have been her small frame and petite stature, she wasn't ready to carry a child to term'."

"Bastard!" Christine snapped, lifting her foot and swiftly kicking his shin with every ounce of force she could muster.

"Bitch." Raoul said slowly, drawing the word out. "You are as damned as that hell spawn creature."

"Perhaps we are the ones who will be free Raoul, perhaps it is you who are damned."

"Get out of my sight!" Raoul snarled, shoving her away from him sharply. "Get out of my sight before you make me do something you'll regret."

Christine rushed from the parlour room, scurrying up the grand staircase and locked herself with in her bedroom. She lived in Hell now.


	25. Chapter 25

Christine stepped out onto the balcony, staring out at the dark garden. She wiped her tears away with her sleeves, her body still trembling from everything Raoul had said. She couldn't believe how cruel Raoul had ended up becoming, when he used to be such a sweet young boy.

The child growing in her stomach was a baby no matter who the father was. How could she live in fear that everything she was being served could be laced with something that would kill the baby? How could Raoul live with that?

"Don't worry little one, you will know your father. No matter what happens." Christine looked up at the brightly shining stars. "Are you under these same stars Erik?"

Erik felt his heart leap in his throat as he approached closer. He had been too far away to understand what she had said at first. He had only heard the last sentence that broke his heart. He had hoped that time would make their connection lessen, but they both felt the same.

"I am beneath the same stars Christine." Erik replied, louder than he had intended – his mind overriding his common sense.

Christine's eyes widened as she stared down at the darkness where she had heard her name. "Who is there?"

"No one." Erik spoke back, watching her form searching the darkness for his shape.

"Erik?" She pushed away from the balcony and walked back into her room, leaving Erik staring up in bewilderment. Had he been wrong about her feelings? Was she going into call Raoul? He darted farther away from the balcony, concealing himself and watching what she was going to do. He was a coward, afraid to know the sting of heartbreak or death.

"Erik?" Christine called softly as she returned to the balcony with her bed sheets tied like a rope. "Erik are you there?"

Hesitantly he approached the balcony again, "Yes."

"Here," She swung the bed sheets over the balcony, the white linens hung just above his head.

Erik eyed them warily. She was a married woman, a pregnant married woman. The child was not his and she was not his wife. Raoul did not deserve her, but she did not deserve himself. The webs they were spinning were soon going to strangle them all, ensnaring them until there was nothing to do but let the strands take the last breath from their bodies.

"Erik are you there?" Christine called again hearing no sounds bellow the balcony, no tugging at the white sheets. Had he been a figment of her imagination? Had she been so desperate to see him again that the stars had played her for a fool?

"Erik?"

Erik had to get away, he couldn't let what he wanted ruin the life that Christine deserved. She would be happier and safer with Raoul. Little did he know how very wrong he was. He was no knight in shining armour to her damsel in distress. He was the dragon that needed to be slain by the handsome Viscount.

~o~

"I am not hungry," Christine lied as she felt her stomach grumble hungrily as she watched the servant girl sit it at her table. "You may take it away."

"The Viscount wishes you to eat to keep his baby healthy and growing in there." The servant added, giving Christine a sweet smile.

"I'm suffering from morning sickness, I'm not hungry. Please just take it away. The very smell makes me feel ill."

"Well, then you must drink something." The young woman poured her a little cup of the cider and held it out to her.

"Thank you," Christine smiled motioning for the servant to sit the cup down. "I will drink some in a few. I need fresh air."

"Well, make sure you eat and drink something." The servant curtseyed and left her alone in the room.

The food was no doubt laced with whatever substance Raoul could obtain. Even if it wasn't laced with poison, Raoul would leave her wondering when it would happen. Starve her out. She'd have to eat eventually. Risk eating contaminated food or risk starving the baby.

Erik's baby.

Christine needed him now to protect her. How could he have known that Raoul would have turned out to be the one that was dangerous? He gave her up because he wanted her to be safe and cared for. She had been safer on the run with a masked murderer than with a wealthy handsome Viscount.

"Father, please I need you now. I need your strength and your grace. Protect this baby, your grandchild. I know it was conceived in sin but I cannot lose it. But, papa, I am just that scared little girl that you used to take into your arms and tell that you would also watch out for me. You sent to me the angel of music, _my_ angel of music and I need you to bring him back to me. Papa, please."

Christine sank into her bed, laying back and staring at the ceiling above. There was no voice, no answer, no Erik.

There was a knock on the door, "Christine?"

"Raoul." Christine jumped out of the bed quickly, eyeing the door before opening nervously. "Hello."

Raoul stared at her as he entered her room, looking around it as though he expected to see his enemy slipping from sight. "You will not eat I hear?"

"I feel ill." Christine stood boldly, trying to not to let her fear show. "I will eat when the nausea passes."

"I hope the little bastard child makes you ill every day I let you keep it." Raoul spat with a cruel grin plastered across his face.

"Have you been drinking?" Christine asked, the strong smell of liquor hitting her nose.

"Wouldn't you drink yourself into oblivion if you found out your 'faithful' wife and been screwing some half faced demon?" Raoul balled his fists at his sides. "I should have left you in that labyrinth of darkness when I rescued you."

"Raoul," Christine whispered, closing her eyes in shame.

"You-" Raoul's eyes flew open wide. "You went back to return to that filthy bastard that ring. Is that when you both decided to deceive the old foolish Viscount? When was the first time you were with him? You acted so young and naive when I kissed you on the rooftop. Was it all a ruse?"

"No." Christine gnawed on her lip, shaking her head. "You were the first person who ever kissed me, Raoul. If we had married when we first planned, I would have been yours in every way. But, fate did not decide it."

"That's right because at the idea of marrying me you'd rather be a devil's whore!" Raoul charged at her, crushing her against him.

"Let go!" Christine gasped, trying to scream but his lips were smothering her voice. His hands were touching her and groping her. His drunken fumbling hands were touching her where until now, only Erik had discovered. Her fists pounded against his shoulders, trying to knock sense into him.

Raoul lifted her by her waist, taking several quick steps until he felt the bed keeping him from moving forward. Christine bit his lip, not giving him any pleasure from his brutal attempt to kiss her. He hissed in pain, only forcing him to dig his fingers into her soft skin. "Bitch."

"Let go." Christine pleaded as she kicked and flailed against the bed as he started unlacing her corset. She wouldn't let him have her like this. He was drunk and he was angry. She didn't want him when he was sober either. "Please stop."

"No." Raoul smacked her across the cheek as he used his free hand to slide her skirt up her ivory legs. "You are my wife and I am taking what is mine."

"Please Raoul!" Christine cried, unable to fight the tears and the sobs any longer. She pushed at his shoulders, trying to pull his hungry mouth away from her neck and collarbone. "Please stop this."

"Be quiet!" Raoul snarled as he reached for his pants laces. "Don't worry my little harlot you won't have to worry about your stomach swelling with my baby."


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: My dear Opera Ghost I apologize for the cruel Cliffhanger. But, if I keep my hand at the level of my eyes, I am unable to type. **

"Please Raoul. This is not the man you are! You are kind and you are gentle. Please, I beg you. Don't do this and become this man." Christine sobbed, leaning up and kissing Raoul gently.

His eyes grew cold as he stared down at her; he swallowed hard and stepped back away from her. "You are not worth my time." He jerked away from her and yanking his pants back around his waist and lacing them back up. "Don't think you're getting away. You will have your time!" Raoul pointed at her as he stepped back away from the bed.

Christine cried as she watched him leave, cowering as the door slammed behind him. She pushed her dress back down her trembling legs, laying on the bed in shock at what had just happened. Raoul had never shown that side of himself before. Sure, he'd been curious with her in the carriage, wanting more than she was willing to give him. But, that rage he had shown was frightening.

Christine touched her fingers to her lips, seeing blood from where his smack had split her lip open. She was thankful that a split lip was the only damage she had suffered. Perhaps a few bruises where his fingers had gripped her too tightly, but they were easily concealed. They would fade, much like the split lip.

"Thank you Lord." Christine mumbled as she sat up slowly, her head spinning with fear still. She needed to find Erik before all of this became too much to handle. She needed to tell him that she was pregnant with his child. He deserved to know that his blood was coursing within her, growing as a tiny combination of the two of them. She would have this baby if it was the last thing she did. Raoul would not take away the last thing she might ever have of Erik.

She knew she had heard bellow the balcony. He had not been a figment of her imagination. If he had been imaginary then he would be with her whenever she was alone. But his voice had been exactly like his. Perhaps he would visit again.

~o~

Her stomach burned in hunger as it growled angrily at her, protesting her sudden fasting. She knew it wasn't safe to be refusing food and drink but she couldn't risk it, not with Raoul so eager to harm her. It was nearly night, with night she could try to sleep and forget the pain. Not just the pain in her stomach, but the pain in her heart.

Christine slipped out of her dress, wrapping herself in her dressing gown and walking out onto her balcony. The moon was full and bright tonight. It was beautiful and enchanting. She felt like a princess trapped in a castle. Just like the stories her father used to tell her when she was a child.

"Erik, I need you. If you're down there. Come to me." Christine called in a hushed voice, letting her stage voice carry the whisper as far as she could. "Please, there are things I need to tell you."

Silence.

Christine turned away from the balcony, making her way back inside her bedroom. The night air felt surprisingly crisp and cool for the beginning of summer. She left the door open and shed her night gown. Slipping under the soft sheets of her bed she resigned herself to lying there and hoping that sleep would come soon enough.

The echoing sound of scratching woke her from her half-sleep, only an hour or so after she had laid down. Bleary eyed she looked around the room before noticing a dark figure standing by the French doors, bathed in the crystal moonlight.

"Erik." She breathed, pulling the covers from her body and gliding towards him.

"Christine, please don't." Erik begged, holding his arm out to keep her a distance away from him. "Say whatever it is that you have to say and let me go. Your hold over me is too powerful."

"Erik," Christine reached out and touched the hand that he was using to keep her at bay. "I am with child."

"I am aware, the Vicomte was apparently luckier than I was." Erik replied stiffly, letting his eyes slide over her moonlit form. She was beautiful with sleep tossed hair pluming around her shoulders.

"No." Christine shook her head, pushing his hand away and stepping closer. "Your child."

"What?" Erik felt the air shoved from his chest, his eyes flew to the gentle curve of her stomach.

"Raoul has yet to touch me." She forced those thoughts from her mind, he hadn't touched her completely. "It is your child."

"My child?" Erik gaped, unsure of what to say. "No."

"Yes." Christine wrapped her fingers around his hand, tugging the limb down to touch her belly. "There, your child."

"But the Vicomte."

"I refused him our wedding night and he returned to find me pregnant. He knows it is yours. Erik, he threatens to poison my food."

"Christine," Erik pulled her close, engulfing her in an embrace that melted her. She had missed him so much. Her stomach growled angrily. "You haven't eaten?"

"No. I will not risk it."

"Stay here." Erik whispered before vanishing in the blink of an eye.

"Wait!" Christine said as she rushed out onto the balcony in a vain attempt to follow him. But he was already on the ground bellow, his dark figure blending into the shadows that the full moon was casting in the gardens.

~o~

"Christine, wake up." Erik whispered, brushing a long musician's finger against her cheek gently. Her eyes opened slowly, closing again as the moonlight hit them. She rolled away from him, covering her face. He stared at her for a moment before she finally sat up.

"Erik." A smile spread across her lips, she had thought he was just a dream. "You're here."

"I brought you something." Erik replied, holding out a bundle for her to take.

Christine sat up in the bed, scooting away from him with the bundle in her lap. "Sit." She ordered, wanting to be near him again. She fumbled with the knot on the top, pulling it free to reveal a loaf of bread and a chunk of cheese. "Thank you!"

"I can't have you," He held his breath for a moment. "Or my child starving."

Christine impolitely gulped the food down, leaving no crumb or scrap of food behind. "What are we going to do?"

"It's not safe to take you from the Manor."

"Our child Erik. Will you deny your own child his father?" Christine took his hand in her hand. "Raoul is not the man you think he is."

"I realise that. He wants to starve you or kill our child." Erik, scooted closer to her and wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

"He tried to rape me Erik." Christine whispered, turning to bury her face into his shirt. She needed this comfort. He was all she needed.

Erik stiffened, wrapping his arms around her body, "The bastard."

"Please don't make stay here."

"Oh Christine," Erik pressed his lips against her hair, smoothing his hands over her back. "My Christine." What had he done? Damning her to this life with Raoul. She wouldn't be able to claim that their wedding was no consummated. She was with child, he could claim it as his child. They had married in the heat of passion, powerful meaningless words. Raoul's words were weak powerful words. "I'm so sorry."


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: Fop: A man who is excessively vain and concerned about his dress, appearance, and manners.**

**Of course, of course Opera Ghost, I am typing as quickly as time will permit. I do apologize theatre inhibits be from writing as much as I would like. -Yours truly.**

**~o~**

"Erik, please do not leave me again." Christine begged, keeping her face buried against his chest. Breathing in the intoxicating sent that was distinctly him. "Take me away from here."

"You are married to Raoul."

"I am having _your_ child."

Erik shook his head, pressing kisses to the top of her head. "Listen. I do not think our foppish friend will be so naive. Because you are pregnant is why I cannot just take you from him."

"Why?" Christine pulled away, staring him in the eyes.

"Because you cannot claim that you have not been with him. Your stomach is proof." Erik couldn't help but glance between her eyes and lips, wetting his lips slowly with his tongue. "He would stay married to you as torture to us both."

"We could leave this town. If I cannot have you Paris is nothing to me." Christine pleaded, self-consciously licking her own lips. "How can you do this to me?"

"Christine," Erik started, trying to control the urge to pull her close and show her just how much he cherished her.

"Erik, think of what will happen to the baby and me. If Raoul wants to kill the babe within me what will happen once I give birth? If I survive childbirth."

"What do you mean?" Erik situated himself so he could be closer to her but not so close to her taunting lips.

"My mother, Charlotte Daae died in childbirth." Christine said softly, "My father always said I was the spitting image of her. She was a dancer, small petite frame, curly locks of brown hair, beautiful in her own way. The doctors said she was too small to successfully carry a child to term."

"No," Erik shook his head as his eyes watched her sad expression. "You will have our child."

"Then take me from here. I need to be free of this stressful life. Always fearful, always watching my back."

Erik removed his mask in one fluent motion, leaning forward to finally join their lips together. He had ached for the gentle feel of their lips entwining and that heart warming hum she gave when his tongue darted out to trace the line of her lips. Their passion, their love was a song that would never die. No matter what came between them.

"Erik," She panted as he pulled away from the soul searing kiss. Her fingers cupped his disfigurement, placing open mouthed kisses against the gnarled skin. "Please."

"Climbing down the balcony will not be safe for you."

"Raoul will have gone to sleep by now."

"Go, I will meet you in the gardens." Erik pried himself from her warm embrace, watching her as she gathered her clothes together and dressed quickly.

"I will see you in a few," Christine smiled as she darted out of her room, careful to keep quiet as she crept along the darkened corridor. The house was silent.

Down the banister and past the ballroom, past the parlour.

"Christine?"

"No." She breathed, hearing the floor boards creak as she slipped past the occupied parlour room.

Raoul's steps were uneven as he spoke again, "Is that you little whore?"

Christine covered her mouth as she pressed her back against the wall. He couldn't find her. Not now, not when freedom was so close she could taste it.

"Christine?" He drew her name out mockingly, as he walked out of the parlour. He looked up and down the hall, trying to see what had made the noise. "Christine, _Christine_?"

She pressed against the wall as hard as she could, stifling her breathing and praying that he would not find her.

"Oh, come out dear. I promise not to hurt you. Gentle Raoul isn't it?" Raoul jerked at a sound, "Come out come out." He took a few steps, seeing the shadow of a woman on the floor. He grinned as he slowly strode towards her hiding place.

Christine closed her eyes, knowing he had found her out. Her eyes flew open when she felt his hands gripping her shoulders. "Please don't." She begged as he pulled her close, letting her breath in the scent of strong liquor on him. She had never known him to drink in such excess. She never knew him to be so aggressive.

She never knew him at all.

She had always thought he was still that sweet boy she knew as a girl. She was a few years younger than he was and she had had such a crush on him. But, she had neglected realise they were older now. He was a man with feelings and emotions and desires just like Erik had shown her.

"Please don't what?" Raoul purred against her neck, letting his lips skim against the sensitive skin. "I just want to have my wife."

"Please, you're drunk."

"I am drunk." Raoul murmured, nipping at her collarbone. "I don't feel mad when I'm drunk."

"In the morning," Christine lied, leaning up to kiss him gently. Trying to soothe the beast she had created. "Give me time tonight. I will be your wife tomorrow."

Raoul gave her a lopsided grin, wavering as he stepped away from her. "I would like that."

"May I go?" She asked, carefully stepping away from the wall. She felt guilty for lying to him and leading him along. Again. She loved him like a sister should love her brother. Kissing him felt so wrong.

"Go, I have whiskey waiting for me in the parlour." Raoul staggered away, swaying with each uneven stride. "Tomorrow." He smiled again, smoothing his hand over his hair and flashing a dashing grin. Christine felt her heart sink and her pulse race with the sin she had committed. In the sight of God he was her husband, by law she was to obey him. He owned her body but someone else owned her soul.

"Tomorrow." She nodded, waiting for the parlour door to shut before rushing down the hall to the doors leading out to the gardens.

Erik stood there staring at the sundial, a dark figure bathed in the beautiful blue light. Christine stopped, taking one glance back at the Manor. She was ready to leave this life, no matter what sin and crime she was committing. God would understand.

"Erik," She started, resting her palm on his shoulder.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" Christine asked, confused by the cold tone in his voice.

"You are leading me along?"

"What?"

Erik jerked her arm away, "What do you want out of me?"

"To be with you."

"_Liar_."

"No!" Christine grabbed his arm as he tried to brush past her. She wouldn't let him leave her now.


	28. Chapter 28

"Take your hand off of me." Erik growled, shoving her hand away again. "You are a little traitor."

"No, Erik, please. You don't understand." Christine begged, trying to keep from screaming at him to listen to her and stop trying to walk away. "I love you!"

"Do you?" Erik mocked, his cold eyes pierced straight through her. "What was that little display inside the Manor with your _husband_?"

"My duty." Christine mumbled, swallowing back the lump in her throat. "I was on my way to find you and he found me. Erik, please." She grabbed his arm again, pulling him back. "Don't do this. Don't leave me here now. I lied to Raoul to get him to leave me alone. Please! He was drunk and trying to have me. I promised him tomorrow I would let him become my husband. But, only to get him to let me go. That's all Erik."

Erik jerked her close, their faces only a breath apart. "Then why did you kiss him?"

"When he tried to rape me," Christine whispered, afraid to talk too loud with him so near to her. "I kissed him and it changed something in him. I was desperate to leave tonight and I was willing to do it again if it gave me a chance at freedom."

"Christine." Erik gritted, "Do not lie to me."

"Have I lied to you before-" Christine bowed her head, realising that she had lied to him so many times before.

"Yes, you have." Erik nudge her head up, staring into her blue eyes, the moon shining into them. "I may no longer loom within the Opera House, but I warn you. You will curse the day that you ever betray the Phantom."

"Never." Christine wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face against his shoulders. "Please believe me."

"I have every reason to doubt you." He hadn't hugged her back, he was still stiffly standing there. "I have every reason to doubt you."

"No. I would not have given you my virtue. Nor would I have repeated the action after that. I may not have told you the truth before _Don Juan, _but I have not lied to you since."

"If you have lied to m-"

Christine leaned up and pressed her lips against his, silencing him. His hands finally moved to snake around her body. "Please believe me."

"I do." Erik whispered, taking her hand in his. "Come, we must go."

Christine bit her lip, letting him lead her through the hedge maze. He knew the garden better than she did. "Thank you."

Erik smiled at her gratitude. She couldn't blame him for being untrusting. She had deceived him with false hope at the Opera House. She may have taught him how to love now, but that didn't mean he didn't know how to hate. He had never been emotionally stable, something she would learn the longer she spent with him. She would have to understand that with the amount of mental and physical abuse he suffered as a child he would be unable to comprehend trust.

"Where are we going?"

"Beneath Notre Dame."

"Does Madame Giry know where you are?" Christine asked slowly, falling behind him as they approached the gate at the end of the gardens.

Erik pushed the gate open effortlessly, "It's been unlocked since you first came here. A hole in security." He glanced back at her, reaching for her hand. "Yes. I needed somewhere to hide away. She will not bother us though. She will not know about Notre Dame."

"Please, don't let her find out. I cannot be taken away from you again." She wrapped herself around him again.

Erik felt a smile stirring on his lips. He had spent so many years without the gentle kindness of another human. No human touch to calm him or care for him. But now, Christine was always willing to engulf him with an overwhelming hold and washing him away with her drowning kisses.

"You'll be safe." Erik replied, soothing his hands over her back. After everything, she was finally his to hold. She was not his wife, but she chose him. She might be damned but she was too pure and good to be fully to blame. You cannot chose who you fall in love with.

~o~

Beneath the Notre Dame was shockingly similar to beneath the Opera Populaire. There was no magical grotto or a white horse for transportation, no lavish decorations of gold and red velvet; but it was a cavern of paths and antechambers.

"I have used this realm before." Erik said, shrugging his cloak from his back and tossing it onto a statue's out stretched arm. "It's not very grand, but neither was the house we were cooped up in before."

"It will do perfectly," Christine said with a sweet smile, moving to rest on a chair close by. She didn't care where they were as long as they were together. "Will we go farther?"

"We will stay here for tonight and tomorrow, we will leave tomorrow night." Erik busied himself with straightening up a mess of papers that littered the floor. "I used to compose here."

"Anything you would like me to sing?"

"Everything." Erik smiled warmly, holding his hand out to her. He swept her up and into his arms. "Christine, I thought I'd never have you in my grasps again."

"I am here now." Christine pulled his mask away, tossing it to the side.

"And now."

"We have forever."

"As long as the fop doesn't ruin everything. Christine, if I could go back and undo everything that has happened."

"Shh," Christine shook her head, pressing her finger to his lips. "We have no control over what happens. We just have to make the best out of it."

"That night when he came and took you from my arms, I wanted to bring you here and force one of the priests to marry us. I wanted you to be my wife."

"To me you are my husband." Christine leaned up and kissed him softly.

**A/N: If you notice **_**Love Never Dies**_** lyrics there, sort of. The end of **_**Beneath a Moonless Sky**_**. "And now" "How can you talk of now?" I changed it for this to "And now." "We have forever."**


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: Erik, my dear Opera Ghost, I am beyond thrilled to have you reviewing my story. I hope I do you great justice. Thank you for reviewing :)**

Erik sat on the edge of the bed and watched her sleep. She had tried to fight the sleep, insistent that she wanted to stay up and talk to him. But her eyelids had won the battle and she had drifted to sleep. She was breathtakingly beautiful when she slept. Her hair was swept behind her, pillowing her pale ivory face, perfect pink lips, and long delicate eyelashes.

Christine was truly an angel.

Erik hesitantly reached out to touch her hand, letting his scarred skin cover her flawless skin. He brushed his thumb against the silky skin, cherishing that he was able to touch her again. His life had reduced to an empty existence; lurking in the shadows and watching her life carry on without him.

But now there was a baby. _His_ baby.

Erik lifted his hand away from hers, letting it rest on the noticeable curve of her stomach. It hadn't been as noticeable in the darkness of her bedroom. But now with her back to the bed he could see the swell of their baby.

How could he be a father when he didn't even have a father as reference? That was not what he was going to become. He might have nearly left her there with the fop, but he wasn't going to be absent in his child's life. Christine could teach him how to be a father; she had had the perfect father in her life. It was only some cruel turn of fate that she was left without him.

Their baby would be raised within the realm of music. The darkness and the underground was not a proper place for a baby to be raised, but Christine would be the light to fill its life. She was the light in his life and would be the same for anyone else. Even the fop probably saw her as a light.

Where would they have to go to finally be free? She was married to Raoul and having a baby that would be considered his because of the bonds of marriage. Erik's child born under the de Chagny name. Raised like some fop's brat. He would rather there be no child than allow that. He was too prideful to let someone else raise his child.

He could let Christine live with Raoul, but introduce a child into the equation and it changed everything. He loved Christine enough to let her live a happier life in safety and comfort, but he couldn't let his child be raised without his blood father like he had been. No child would ever be like him.

Then there was the overwhelming possibility that his disfigurement was hereditary. Even if Raoul had let her keep the babe until he or she was born, they may not look like him. Questions would be asked and answer would be given. Who knew what Raoul would do if the baby was as hideous as the truthful father. No one was going to hurt his flesh and blood.

He had never imagined himself as a father. He had never even been able to pay a whore to sleep with him, much less anyone freely given them to him. Until Christine came along and everything changed. He knew how it felt to have a beautiful woman who loved him curled beneath him, singing strange new melodies of passion to him. A feeling he would trade for nothing. Except maybe the feeling of his own flesh and blood bundle in a cloth and held in his arms.

When she had thought she was pregnant before he had been so afraid and by the time he was used to the idea it was taken away from him. Now he could see where she was growing a real babe inside of her.

Erik slowly rose from the bed and walked across the crypt to where his harpsichord sat. It was nothing like the grand organ he had owned beneath the Populaire, but it would do for music. He missed Christine's voice and couldn't wait to hear it filling her ears again.

A stack of sheet music sat where he had been composing it before. _Love Never Dies_. An aria designed for only Christine's voice. He knew exactly what notes and what keys would work perfectly with her heavenly voice and no one would be able to reproduce how this song would fit her.

He set his fingers to the ivory keys and began playing the enchanting music he had longed to hear a voice to match.

Christine's eyes fluttered open as the music invaded her sleep. A pleasant invasion at that. She turned her head to see Erik sitting at the harpsichord playing a beautiful song with his skilful fingers. She slowly rose from the bed, tiptoeing towards him. He was caught in the maelstrom of melodies to notice that she stood behind him.

"Who knows when love begins," Christine started reading the lyrics and the notes, resting her hand against his shoulder. "Who knows what makes it start. One day it's simply there. Alive inside your heart."

Erik closed his eyes as he let his fingers play the music they knew as well as the pulse inside his body. Christine's voice invaded his very soul.

"It slips into your thoughts. It infiltrates your soul. It takes you by surprise. Then seizes full control." The lyrics were so truthful. Erik claimed he didn't understand love, but it seemed that in her absence he had come to comprehend its control. "Try to deny it. And try to protest. But love won't let you go once you've been possessed."

"Sing." Erik murmured in his trance like phase.

"Love never dies. Love never falters. Once it has spoken. Love is yours. Love never fades. Love never alters. Hearts may get broken. Love endures. Hearts may get broken. Love endures. And soon as you submit, surrender flesh and bone. That love takes on a life, much bigger than your own. It uses you at whim and drives you to despair. And forces you to feel more joy than you can bear."

"Yes, sing." Erik urged as the melody swelled around them.

"Love gives you pleasure, love brings you pain. And yet when both are gone love will still remain. Once it has spoken. Love is yours. Love never dies. Love never alters. Hearts may get broken. Love endures. Hearts may get broken. Love never dies. Love will continue. Love keeps on beating when you're gone."

"_Sing_." Erik rasped, completely possessed by her voice and his music.

"Love never dies. Once it is in you. Life may be fleeting. Love lives on. Life may be fleeting. Love lives on!" The last note rang out in the echoing crypt and Christine felt higher than the sky itself. His music set her world on fire with blinding bright colours.

"Oh Christine." Erik murmured turning to look up at her. He grabbed her by the hand, wrapping his other hand around her waist and tugging her down onto his lap. "_My_ Christine."

"No matter what happens I will always be yours." Christine breathed, her heart and mind still racing from the intoxicating music. "You're the one who sets my soul on fire."

"_My_ _Christine_." He hissed again with seductive tone that struck her to the core. He smirked at her heavy eyelids, which were weighted with desire not sleep this time. "_My Christine_." It was a roar of pure dominance and possession. He had laid claim to her as only his. To hell with marriage laws and bonds created some self-righteous priest. Love was between two people and God smiling down on them. Who needed to blur the lines with half-hearted words in front of a congregation of your _closest_ distant relations and your _best_ enemies?

"Only yours." Christine pressed her hips against him as pulled her closer to him. "Only _yours_." His mouth was on hers in a fast second, devouring her with the ever consuming passion that always threatened to overpower them.

Erik lifted her up, wrapping her limbs around him as he made quick work with the distance between the harpsichord and the bed. Two months of waiting to feel her again after a lifetime of deprivation was the same as giving a blind man sight and taking it away again. She was the beacon in his eternal darkness, the only light that guided him. Living without her would have been a life without oxygen, without light, without music.


	30. Chapter 30

In the early morning Erik had crept out of the crypt beneath Notre Dame to find them food for the day. He hoped she would stay asleep while he was gone, but he somehow doubted that with Christine anything could be easy. Not that he disliked having to be a better man for her, even if was harder than he had ever imagined.

Erik pushed the slab of stone away, slipping through the crack and making his decent down to the lower regions of Notre Dame. He had managed to snatch fresh bread and pastries from a bakery cart that was left momentarily unattended when there was a "crash" inside of the shop. He had already stolen wine that they used for communion from Notre Dame when he had last stayed in the crypt.

The crypt was nearly as convenient as the Opera Underbelly had been. It had an underground water source, nowhere as grand as the grotto, but safe to drink. It was well hidden and protected from inspection by the priests. The priests were terrified of him because of his face, but at the same time they respected his presence. They were sworn to secrecy.

"Where have you been?" Christine snapped when she saw his figure appearing in the distance.

"Good morning to you as well," Erik retorted with a roll of his eyes. He moved to the table, setting down the bakery items. "I've brought breakfast." Grabbing up two mugs he moved to fill them with wine from the keg that sat in the corner.

"You should have woken me."

"You were sleeping peacefully. I had limited time. It's early and shops are opening and people are still in a slumbering state. Easy prey."

"I thought.." Christine shook her head, brushing her mess of curls behind her shoulders. "I just-"

"Thought I'd left you again?"

Christine stared at him for a moment before closing her eyes and nodding. "Yes."

"I'm not going to leave you."

"You were going to leave me at the Manor when you thought I had betrayed you." Christine insisted, not willing to let the subject die until she had better answers.

"I do not like being betrayed."

"You barely gave me a chance to explain."

Erik gritted his teeth, "I do not have high tolerance and I have limited patience."

"I would never betray you now." Christine explained, reaching out to touch his unmarred cheek, the only mark was from the dogs that Raoul had set on him. "Please believe me when I say that."

"You're here now aren't you?" Erik snapped, tiring of the conversation already. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Don't avoid this." Christine turned to watch him breaking off pieces of the bread to ignore her. "Why were you so quick to leave me there?"

"Because, Christine," Erik started with a growl, "I have learned that if you contemplate alternatives very long you will waste your time and you will die. I could not risk you being the lying Delilah I once thought you were. You could have easily been pregnant with his child and concocted some plan to ensnare this twisted creature."

"Never!" Christine gasped, stepping behind him and pressing her palms against his shoulder blades. "I would never deceive you."

"I will take your word for it." Erik shrugged, turning in her touch and taking her hands in his hands, pressing them to his chest. "But I need you to do me a favour."

"What is it?"

"Do not pester me." Erik frowned at her, his eyes serious and piercing. "As I said I have a low tolerance to irritation. Your insistent questions strike the iron in my mind. I do not think you want to make me angry."

"I'm sorry." Christine bit her lip, staring down guiltily. "I only like to know why things happen."

"I've noticed."

"Make this be the last time I have to tell you to stop. I do not want to hurt you in rage." Erik ran his hands up and down her arms, massaging his thumb against her warn gentle skin. "How do you feel?"

"I'm fine, I'm great." Christine smiled, pressing her hand against her stomach. "We're both great."

"Nothing sore today?" Erik asked with concerned eyes, thinking of how eager he had been to be with her last night. He still wasn't used to being with her; he was nothing more than an excited school boy.

"Don't worry." She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him close. She couldn't imagine a life without him. She felt safe with her even though everything about him was dangerous and untameable.

Erik was slow to wrap his arms around her, taking a deep breath of her intoxicating scent. She was his and only his. Everything about her was his to possess whenever he wanted to. The fop was out of the equation inside the sanctuary of their world. "Mine." Erik whispered into her hair, warming to her embrace.

Christine nodded against his chest, a little taken back that he kept asserting that dominance. In some ways he and Raoul were the same person. Both were lavish on their indulgences, though both different gluttonies; both wanted to be the only man in her life; both asserted their dominance in speech, appearance, and action. But she had chosen the one that had a beautiful interior and an ugly exterior. The true distortion may be his soul, but it was an unpolished diamond that she was willing to shine.

"Come, you should eat." Erik pried himself from her arms reluctantly, motioning to the bread he had been breaking before she had started questioning him. "You won't have to worry about anything." Erik sat down in the chair and motioned for her to sit down in his lap.

Christine nimbly sat down on his lap, leaning back against his chest. Erik rested his hand against her swollen stomach, brushing his thumb against the material of her dress. Christine smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "For years you have been my angel of music, my tutor, my mentor. Now you are my husband and the father of my child." He might have not been her husband by law, but to her he was her husband because of their vows they had said.

"Look at me," Erik smirked, studying her as she was nibbling on the bread. "A pitiful monster and a graceful angel with her stomach swelling with _my _seed." His heart ached with pride that he had won her. To have her was to have the world. An angel was an angel rather her wings had been clipped or not. She claimed he was her angel of music and for her he would have fallen to the depths of Hell to have her.

Christine smiled at him, resting her free hand overtop his. "Thank you for breakfast."

"Anything for you." He purred, pressing a kiss to her curls. He would do anything for her. Once he possessed something he would do whatever he was capable of to protect, cherish, and lavish upon it. "Say the word, Christine, and I will give you anything." It was pure intoxication to have her love and her desires at his disposal. He would die a happy man to drown in her passion.

"I just want you." Christine replied, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. She could see what her love was doing to him. So many years without what she offered had made him hungry for more. Raoul had turned to drinking when she denied him her body and Erik had become a drunk for her body.

"Ma amour."

"Do away with this," Christine whispered, reaching behind his head for the laces to his mask. "You don't need that when you are around me." Erik reached for the slipping mask self-consciously. She had accepted the marred cheek but it still stripped him bare. "Let it go." She tugged the mask away from his cheek. The disfigurement still startled her at first, before she adjusted to the misshapen flesh and lips she had come to love.

Erik was speechless as he watched the compassion in her eyes. He would never fully comprehend her acceptance. The love and the care she poured out on him. As much as she was his, he was hers. Some poetic thought of swapping their hearts the first time they had made love entered his mind and made him yearn to have her again. But now was not the time, she had only just woke up and was eating her breakfast. It could not possibly be healthy for a pregnant woman to engage in their passionate overzealous unions.

Self restraint had never been his strong suit. If he wanted it he would take it as often as he liked. Music, murder, and Christine were his addictions. The power and the pleasure they gave him were euphoric.

How had he ever dared to give up his most potent addiction? To have her once was to crave her forever. They fit together like two strands of melody at last entwined. Without her he had been a note on a line without a sound or an instrument to play it.

Erik watched her finish the piece of bread before suddenly reaching up for her and tugging her close, lips playing against hers passionately and possessively. His hands trailed down her stomach, desperate to touch her bare skin. "I'm sorry!" He gasped and pushed her away from him in one fluid movement, striding firmly across the room and putting distance between them. "I'm sorry." He loosened the cravat around his neck, desperate for air.

"Erik, don't you're fine." Christine motioned for him to calm down, "I want you as much as you want me. Don't be ashamed of it."

Erik shook his head, "You've taught me love now teach me control."

Christine chuckled softly, "I will try." She doubted that he would be able to accept her telling him no. That was a word he didn't seem familiar with. "Let's begin." Take a few careful steps she approached him, smiling when he met her half way.

"How?"

Christine gave him a playful smirk. She leaned up and kissed him, wrapping her fingers behind his head and running them through his dark hair. She let the kiss grow until she felt breathless and his movements had become more desperate and seductive. As unwilling as she was to break away from him and end the moment she did.

Erik clutched at her, not letting her move away from him. He pulled her flush against him, trying his best to capture her lips again. "_Christine_." He groaned, as she fought to pull away from his grasp.

"Restraint."

"To Hell with it." Erik rasped, his eyes clouded with lust and desire.

"No." Christine replied weakly, unconvinced that she could control herself with him so close and them both spun up. "No."

"_Please_." Erik sang the word seductively, running a long musician's finger down the curve of her cheek bone. She closed her eyes and parted her lips, giving him the opportunity to kiss her again, letting his tongue lavish against hers. He could die the way he felt with her in his hands.

"We must stop." Christine gritted, fighting her own desires. Her fingers even contradicted her words as she started to fumble with the laces of his shirt. "You told me to control you."

"You do control me," Erik replied huskily, jerking the laces of her dress apart and pulling it from her shoulders. "You control my ever desire. Every song sings to me _Christine, Christine_."

"Erik," Christine closed her eyes, lost completely in the moment. She knew he would be furious that she gave in so easily when she was supposed to help him overcome his desires. But if he knew how intoxicating and seductive he could become he would understand. He was like a rare exotic flower, he was not the most beautiful flower but his scent was dizzying and once you touched its blossom you were poisoned by it's petal.

**A/N: My dear Opera Ghost, I believe you will enjoy this chapter. What do my readers think of the metaphors I use? Do I portray Christine and Erik well? Do you see the inner turmoil that Erik suffers from? I want feedback! I live off feedback. It's my drug of choice. I 3 you all!**


	31. Chapter 31

"I suppose I failed that lesson." Erik murmured as he stretched out on the bed, feeling sated and pleased with himself. He glanced down at Christine who was drowsily resting on his chest. Somehow he couldn't help but feel that he had taken advantage of her good nature. Christine had spent her life being taught to always entertain. What would make her change once the costumes left her bare and for his eyes only?

"It's like ballet, pratiquer parfait - practice makes perfect." Christine pressed a soft kiss against his scarred chest, letting out a soft puff of air that danced across his skin. "I did not believe you would take no easily."

"Once you're possessed it never lets you go." Erik tucked his fingers into her curls, tossing them between fingers. "The more I have you, the more I want you."

"Years of waiting and months of wanting." Christine decided as she closed her eyes happily. "We'll have to show some restraint as I get larger."

Erik hummed a pleased sound as he pictured Christine heavy with his child. That was all that mattered to him. The idea that he had helped to create a life after he had taken so many made him want to take flight. "I don't know restraint."

"You can learn," Christine's eyes shot open as he ran his hand teasingly along the side of her ribs, making her giggle. "Stop it."

"I like hearing laughter."

"No, stop!" Christine yelped, rolling away from his hand and swatting it away. "I'll tickle you." She slid her fingers along his scarred ribs with a devilish smirk on her lips.

"I'm not ticklish. That's a learned trait."

"Oh." Her eyes widened sheepishly, "I didn't know."

"I had never had someone cup either cheek compassionately until you entered my life why would anyone brush their fingers along my ribs? The only touch they knew was from the sharp lick of a whip."

"I'm sorry." Christine numbly pulled her hand away from his side, staring at the crisscrossed scars there. She wondered how many times he had been whipped as a child to have so many scars. More scars than she would ever be able to count or name, but she wanted to know them all.

Erik cupped her cheek in his palm, running his thumb across her bruised lip. It hadn't been him that had caused the bruising, he had noticed the split across the bottom lip when he brought her from the de Chagny Manor. "What happened?"

"What?" She felt the tinge of pain from the pressure of his finger. "Oh, that. It's nothing."

"Did he hurt you?"

"He smacked me across the mouth. It was the least I could have come out with. Trust me." Christine cringed at the thought of Raoul's hands touching her where Erik's touch could make her blood boil hot. What would have happened if Raoul had got his way on their wedding night? Would she still be there as his wife, thinking that the baby growing inside of her was her husband's and not her lover's?

"I will kill him if he lays another hand on you."

"Can we honestly run forever?" Christine cuddled close to him, tracing her fingers across the maze of scars. "Where can we go to live in peace?"

"Your home country?"

"I never spent a day in Sweden." Christine replied with a laugh, "France has always been my home."

"Mine as well." Erik sighed, leaning his head back against the pillows. "For now I think this crypt will prove safe. Your fop most likely has a search for you across the city."

"He is not _mine_." Christine gritted, rolling her eyes at his statement.

"You never cared for him at all?"

"No." Christine sighed, sitting up in the bed beside him, hugging the sheets to her chest. "I cared for him deeply. I was madly in love with the idea of him."

"Go on." Erik narrowed his eyes, watching her expression wilt under his gaze. "Don't say what you think I want to hear."

"When it was announced that the Vicomte de Chagny was our newest patron it was during rehearsal for _Hannibal_. I recognized him instantly but he walked past me without even a glance. I admit, I was gawky and too thin to look attractive in those scant costumes."

"Impossible."

Christine bit her lip and continued, "You know Meg and the way she daydreams. Everything is so romantic and like a story. She was insistent that he would recognize me. When Carlotta quit and I was given a chance to shine I knew he would notice me."

"I gave you the chance to shine."

"He noticed me alright. After the aria he came to my dressing room and spoke so fondly of our childhood play. You see my father was his violin tutor and I became friends with the young Vicomte. He rescued my new red scarf when it blew away from me." Christine let out a heavy sigh, glancing at Erik. His face was like a statue as he studied her. Someone had disfigured the work of art, chipping away at what would have been a masterpiece.

"He would have never noticed you if I hadn't been so determined to have you be deserving star."

Christine nodded slowly, remembering that night like it were yesterday. "He wished to take me for supper but I was insistent that I had a strict tutor who would not be approving if I missed a lesson. I owed my success to him and him alone. But Raoul took it as a joke. You came to me through the mirror and I could sense that you felt betrayed and I had done nothing but reacquaint myself with an old friend."

"I was jealous," Erik started reliving that blind hatred he had felt for the foppish patron who was trying to buy _his_ Christine's attentions. "I couldn't have him ruining my plans for you."

"I was terrified of you."

Erik met her eyes, unsure of what the tears brimming in her eyes meant. "Do I terrify you now?"

"Yes." Christine admitted, wiping away the tears. "I'm afraid I'll do something wrong and you'll snap or you'll leave me. If you leave me I have nothing. Even if I wanted Raoul to take me back he won't."

"Why did you ever let him think you cared for him?"

"I loved him because he was handsome and he was wealthy, he was kind to me and I knew his nature. I felt safe with him. It felt normal to be with a man who could take through the city, parade me on his arm. He was not afraid to indulge in passionate kisses and whisper words into my ears. He was not terrified to touch me unless I was beguiled by some haunting melody. Oh, Erik, I thought I loved him because he was everything you were but different."

"Then why didn't you choose the handsome fop?" Erik snapped, resisting the urge to lunge from the bed and disappear without listening to her. "Why did you choose me? I gave you the option _start a new life with me buy his freedom with your love. Refuse me and you send your lover to his death_."

"I choose you because I loved you, not because I was afraid and not because of Raoul. I realised that it was you who I had loved all along." Christine closed her eyes, letting the memories dance across her mind's eyes. "I remember looking at you before you cut the ropes and we plunged into the paper flames. I saw how innocent you truly were in all of it. The only monsters were the people who could accept such a beautiful man." She reached blindly for his hand, entwining their fingers. Her eyes fluttered open as she brought his hand to her lips, pressing kisses to whatever skin she could touch.

"I let you go then. I gave you to him and I told you to leave."

"But I couldn't let us go like that. I couldn't leave with Raoul, knowing who I truly loved. When I kissed your lips I realised how wrong it had been to kiss Raoul. He was better left as a ghost of my childhood."

"Ah Christine." Erik turned to face her, staring green into blue eyes. "If I had not been a coward to think you would turn away from me we could be free to be together."

"We will never be free." Christine whispered softly, leaning to let their foreheads press together. "Damned to some twisted fate."

"You did nothing to be cursed to this. You should be free and happy."

"I would rather be happy and hunted with you than dying day by day in the de Chagny cage." Christine scooted closer to him, burying her face against his shoulder. Being close to him like that, comforting and innocently intimate, made her realise just how important what they had together was to her.

"If only I had been bold. I yearn to have been the first to steal a kiss from your lips."

"You were the first and the only to steal the most important kiss from me." Christine whispered gruffly, giving him a playful smile. She waited until he was about to kiss her before darting away from the kiss and slipping out of the bed. "However I am tired and you need to learn restraint."

Erik gritted his teeth together as he watched her dress. She was going to be the death of him if she kept up her teasing taunts.

**A/N: I promise next chapter will be filled with plot and less fluff. I think this fluff really helps carry into the plot. *plasters **_**Master at Work**_** sign up*. More feedback please?**


	32. Chapter 32

"Find her!" Raoul roared as he smashed back through the doors of her empty bedroom. The curtains were billowing in the wind blowing in from the open doors leading to the balcony. But he knew that's not the last place she had been.

He had gone to her room later that night, expecting to find her there. But instead he found an empty room, as barren as the life he now lived. Where had the happiness gone? That monster had killed the Christine he knew. She was no longer the naive girl he had loved. Instead, in her place, was a secretive deceitful ghost.

Drunkenly hopeful he thought she would return to her room by morning, but he had been mistaken. His life had suddenly become full of mistaken hopes. Reduced to nothing more than a shattered dream.

"Find Christine. Fine her!" He screamed at the staff as they cowered in his rage. "Look at the Opera Populaire, look in that good forsaken shack, check every abandoned house, ask every night man, question every inn keeper."

"Yes monsieur."

"When you find the little slut bring her to me and I will make her pay!" Raoul snarled, wringing his hands together. "She will feel the hurt she is putting me through. Bring me a drink. _Now_."

One of his man servants bowed quickly making haste to get the Vicomte his drink. None of the staff had ever seen their master so cruel or vengeful. Ever since he was a child he had had a mild sweet temperament. But the year surrounding the Opera Ghost and his courting of Miss Daae had seen him sink into a drinking induced depression and transform into his father.

"I will make her pay. I will make her pay." Raoul mumbled as he ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. "What are you all waiting for? Look for her!" Raoul growled, watching his nervous staff. "Go!"

They scurried, trying to leave his presence as quickly as possible.

"Wait!" Raoul snapped, grabbing the arm of a small maid. "You."

"Ye-"She trembled, "Yes monsieur?"

"Who are you?" Raoul narrowed his eyes, studying the young girl's face and body.

"Jane, sir. I'm a scullery maid." She resisted the urge to fight her way out of his grasp. The others had known not to interfere with him, they had left her there in the empty corridor with the drunken man.

"How old are you Jane?" Raoul sneered, reaching for the snood she wore to hold her hair up while she worked. He tugged it away from her head, revealing curly hair that reminded him of Christine.

"Sixteen, sir." She trembled, keeping her eyes down cast. She was no fool, she knew exactly what he was doing. His intentions were blatantly obvious that even a scullery maid could see them.

"Such a nice young age, only a few years younger than my Christine." Raoul pressed his cheek against her curly locks, imagining that the maid was Christine. "I promise I won't hurt you. As long as you don't protest."

Jane gulped, closing her eyes as his hands smoothed across her stomach and slid down along her hips. "Please Monsieur, I have a fiancé I'm to marry when he's done with his apprenticeship."

"I had a fiancé and she slept with that devil faced demon." Raoul pressed a series of kisses along the curve of her neck. "Does marriage really mean a damn thing?"

"Monsieur," She whimpered as he hands continued to explore, making her stomach twist and turn. "Please don't."

"You are not Christine, you have no power over me." Raoul jerked her closer to him letting her know exactly what his intentions were. If he couldn't have Christine to hurt the way she'd hurt him this innocent scullery maid would do. Jane let out a yelp as he pushed her against the wall, pressing her cheek against the cold unfeeling wall. "Don't make a sound or I'll make it worse for you."

~o~

"Maman where do you think that Christine has gone?" Meg questioned as her mother returned from escorting the de Chagny foot servant from the house. "He hadn't said a word about seeing her again."

"Why would he say a word Meg? He only stayed with us because he had nowhere else to go. He would not trust me with a secret again. Years I spent earning his trust and I destroyed it in one evening."

"But Christine was happily married. There were rumours that she was with child."

"What rumours?" Madame Giry questioned curiously, wondering what gossip her daughter had overheard.

"Christine had gone a dinner at an aristocrat's home and several of the ladies seemed to believe that she was showing a curve of her stomach. It was only a month or so after Raoul had been gone from town."

"The Vicomte was absent from society for two months," Madame Giry tried to work the figures in her mind. She had been a thin ballerina, when she was pregnant with Meg it took three to four months before she had started to noticeably show.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, I was just trying to figure out where she could have gone. If you haven't noticed Erik has not shown his face."

"Who hasn't shown his face?" Erik asked as he strode into the room, wearing his smug grin.

"You," Madame Giry gritted, staring at the well dressed phantom. "Christine de Chagny has vanished from her home."

Erik laughed coldly, "You think I have something to do with her disappearance then?"

"I do. As does the Vicomte and the rest of Paris society."

"I washed my hands of Christine." Erik lied fluently, showing no emotion or caring. "I do not need her tearing my world apart any longer."

"But," Meg gasped, "I thought that you were in love."

"Love is merely a game rich young boys play." Erik snapped, holding his hands behind his back. "I was mistaken to have ever brought her here. I had not realised the deceit she was living."

"It is good to see that the Opera Ghost has gained his bite back. She muzzled you, Erik." Madame Giry gave him a proud grin. "You were no more than a pet dog to her."

"I realise this now." Erik smirked, as he turned to leave. "I have important matters to attend to. I will become less frequent here."

"What are you doing?"

"I have been approached by an old acquaintance to compose music and write for an Opera House elsewhere. Do not worry I'll still be in Paris."

The trap had been set and Madame Giry had blindly fallen into it. She would not question his comings and goings and he and Christine would be able to continue their life below the Notre Dame. He at least knew now that Raoul was searching for his wife. His lie would buy them time.

**A/N: Raoul I think is more Patrick Wilson than any other de Chagny. I wish I could use Ramin as Raoul, but I can't see him acting like this. Plus how's a girl to chose if the Phantom and Raoul are the same actor?**


	33. Chapter 33

Jane pried herself from the arms of the Vicomte de Chagny, wiping at her raw tear stained cheeks. Raoul shifted in his sleep, rolling towards the now empty spot on the bed. She glanced over her shoulder at him and started to cry again. Everything she had planned in her life had been ruined by the drunk Vicomte in one swift action.

She dressed herself slowly in a haze of memories and pain. She was a scullery maid, the lowest member of the servants she couldn't resist what he had done. She needed her job to survive in life. Even if it meant letting a deranged man take her virtue in one blind moment of lust.

Jane rushed to leave the room as quickly as she could when she saw Raoul starting to stir awake, desperate to not have to relive the experience again.

Raoul woke to the empty bed, rubbing his throbbing head as he tried to fight the blur of sleep. He had never felt so sick after a few drinks. But he knew he had had far more than a few drinks last night, he had had a few dozen drinks. Still there wasn't enough liquor running through his veins to numb the ache in his heart.

"Christine." He groaned, burying his face into his pillows and slamming his fists against the mattress. Hell would feel like heaven when he got a hold of the phantom and _his_ Christine. Even if she would not stay within his house and abide by the laws with which they were bound, he would make her well aware of who she belonged to. He had won her fair and square from the demon. She had kissed the hell spawn creature to save his life, she bought his freedom with her... _love._ Her love for the demon and not for him.

~o~

"I believe it worked," Erik said as he laid down a sack on the table before he untied his cravat and shrugged off his waist coat, tossing the cloak from his shoulders and rolling up the sleeves of his white shirt.

"We're safe for now?"

Erik nodded with a relieved smile, "I believe the bought my abhorrent hatred towards you."

"I never thought I'd be happy to hear that you hate me." Christine laughed softly as she reached for the sack, Erik jerked it out of her hands before she could see what was inside of it.

"Close your eyes."

"A surprise?" Christine asked, eyeing him curiously before obeying and closing her eyes. She heard Erik rustle with the sack, hearing him lay several things down on the table beside them. "When can I-" Her words were cut off by his lips touching hers and kissing her gently.

"Open your eyes." Erik whispered, taking her hand and leading her to face whatever he had brought.

Christine opened her eyes slowly, gasping in delight at what she saw before her. He had brought several apples, a block of cheese, more loaves of bread, croissants, and a dress. "Where did you?"

"Shop owners need to learn that if they hear a clatter inside their shop they'll be robbed from outside."

"Clever." Christine picked up the dress, feeling the silken material sliding between her fingers. "How did you know that red was my favourite colour?"

"I just knew that it looked beautiful on you." Erik cupped her cheek, smiling at her as she leaned up to kiss him.

"Thank you." Christine laid the dress back down and eyed the food. "I didn't realize I was starving until now."

"You are feeding two." Erik removed his mask hesitantly, striding across the room to lay it where it was mean to be. "Have to keep you fed so you can stay healthy."

"Would you care to play the harpsichord after I eat? The ballet from _Ill Mutto_ act four."

Erik gave her a stiff smile, "Must it be _Ill Mutto_?"

"But the ballet was beautiful. Oh." Christine stared sheepishly at her hands, "I forgot. Perhaps just play the score for the new aria you showed me."

"I am not proud about killing him." Erik wrung his hands, reaching for an apple to keep his attention. He bit into the fruit, "Do you want to dance?"

"Yes." Christine smiled at him, "I have not danced since the wedding ball and I want to stay flexible and graceful." She hungrily finished the piece of bread in her hand before starting on a chunk of cheese she'd cut from the block.

"Or you could let me have this dance." Erik smiled, setting the apple back on the table and offering her his hand.

"There's no music." Christine teased, stepping forward and placing her hand in his.

"Night time sharpens heightens each sensation. Darkness stirs and wakes imagination. Silently the senses abandon their defenses." Erik placed his hand on her waist, swaying with his song. Keeping her close to his body, as he sang to her a song that had never been as powerful as it was now.

Erik let her spin away from him, bringing her back so her back faced him, letting his hands skim against her swelling stomach. He remembered the first time he had sang this melody to her. His fingers had wandered across the bodice of her dress. It had seemed so dangerous and powerful, an answer to a desperate prayer to be able to have his hand that close to her skin willingly.

"Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendour. Grasp it, sense it tremulous and tender. Turn your face away from the garish light of day. Turn your thoughts away from cold unfeeling light. And listen to the music of the night." Now he had possession of her whole body, he could take her and hold her when he felt the need to.

He pulled her back around, settling his hands back into place as they waltzed to the music. "Let your mind start a journey through a strange new world. Leave all thoughts of the world you knew before. Let your soul take you where you want to be." Christine kept close to him as they danced, "Only then can you belong to me. Floating, falling, sweet intoxication. "

"Touch me. Trust me." Christine's hands wandered wantonly down his body, making his eyes burn. "Savour each sensation. Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in. To the power of the music that I write. The power of the music of the night."

Erik had let the waltz begin to take them back towards the bed. It was dangerous to be so free with her. Without restriction or risks he burned to be with her, to make the music of the night. "You alone can make my song take flight. Help me make the music of the night."

"Erik." She breathed, feeling desperate to give into the beautiful lyrics that she now completely understood. How had she been so blind to his desires when he first sang these lyrics? Beguiling her with his seductive voice and mysterious personality.

Erik pushed her back against the bed, never letting their eye contact break as they stared into each other's soul. Erik settled above her, lips hovering just above hers. He could feel her hot breath gently dancing across his face. The tension was unbearable as he stared down at her in their silent moment.

Groaning Erik pulled away from her in one heartbreaking action. "I'm sorry. But doing this is not teaching me to control myself. I cannot seduce you whenever I please." He buried his face in his hands and he sat on the edge of the bed.

"I understand." Christine replied softly, kneeling on the bed beside him, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her cheek against his shoulder. "It's still so new for us. Being with someone who returns your feelings."

"Being denied the touch of another human and the warmth of love and then suddenly knowing both so intimately well. It's blinding and controlling. Every time I look at you I picture burying mys-"

"Shh," Christine giggled against his shoulder, feeling her cheeks burning hot at his blunt phrasing. "Let's not go there. If just looking at me makes you feel that way, what can talking about it do?"

"Stroke the eternal flame."

"Hush Erik." Christine hid her face in embarrassment. "We both know exactly what it is. It can be left unsaid."

Erik turned his head, craning his neck so he could kiss her head. "It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"I'm not ashamed of it. I'm well aware of the mechanics of it all now. Even the part about carrying a child. I only wish my mother had had a chance to tell me about everything that happens with childbirth. What will I do when the baby comes?"

Erik frowned, "We can cross that bridge when it comes."

"Erik, we need to plan what happens if I cannot deliver the baby. Don't try to save me, save our child. Raise our child with the love that I have shown you. Teach the baby music and dance and the art of composing. Raise it the way you wish you were raised."

"I will not let anything happen to you." Erik wrapped his arm around her as she sat beside him, her feet dangling over the edge of the bed beside his.

"I pray that nothing happens, but we must be prepared. My father and my mother never thought she would die. He was left with a baby and no idea what to do."

"He raised you well."

"And left me alone in this world."

"He gave you to me to watch and to protect."

"He gave us this child, Erik." She pulled his hand to rest on her stomach. "If it is a boy, name him Gustave."

"I want our daughter to be named Charlotte, for both you and your mother." Erik pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Christine, never in my wildest dreams for my life did I picture myself discussing the names of my child. I pictured that my seed, if ever given the chance, would be as cursed and as rotten as the ugliness of my face. I thought I would not be able to give any woman a child even if she gave me the chance."

"Then there was me."

"The light that filled the world of darkness I was ensnared in." Erik closed his eyes, taking deep slow breaths as he rested his forehead against her cheek. "The love that filled my heart."

"I wish I had accepted what I felt for you. I wish I had never put you through the pain that I did."

Erik shook his head, "It has made me appreciate what I have even more." He petted her stomach, whispering silent words to the baby within her. "Without what happened to bring us here now, we might not have this child."

"But we could still have the Opera House and a free life. I would be single or your wife."

Erik glanced at her hand, noticing for the first time that she still wore the Vicomte's ring. "You still wear the ring _he_ gave you."

"No," Christine breathed, opening her eyes wide. "He might have given it to me for our engagement but you took it from me at the Masquerade. You placed it on my hand after _Don Juan_ and I gave it back to you. You gave it to me at the abandoned house and Raoul still chose to use it for the wedding. I can only picture you placing it on my finger."

"I will find a suitable ring for you that will make it clear that you are mine." Erik replied possessively, pulling the ring from her slender finger. "Our vows are more legitimate than those lifeless vows you said to the fop."

"You _were_ there." Christine gasped, taking his hand in her hands. "I thought I saw you. I knew I felt you there. Why didn't you save me?"

"And do what? Wrap my Punjab around his foolish neck and whisk you away?"

"Yes." Christine shocked herself, covering her mouth. "I-"

"I understand." Erik patted her leg gently. He smiled at the simple gestures he was allow to do. Touching _his_ Christine as he pleased. Her soft, warm skin beneath his cold, scarred, hands. His hand drifted up her thigh before stopping and jerking away. "Sorry."

"I can't expect you to be perfect on your first day." Christine laughed, kissing his cheek and standing up to walk across the room. "However, I am still hungry and I will now consume everything you brought."

"Including the dress?"

"_Including_ the dress."

Erik burst out laughing, sitting back and watching Christine. Erik couldn't help but feel the overwhelming swell of pride flood his soul. It was a beautiful feeling he had only pictured feeling towards hearing his work put on stage.

**A/N: As a note for the previous chapter's "rich young boys" line. I've used that saying since way before I ever saw Les Mis. If I credited every song or show that mentioned a line I would have no time to write my story. Less Raoul more fluff this chapter, but things need to come and be said to propel my story more.**


	34. Chapter 34

The monkey clamoured along the side of the metal cage, the cymbals tied around its neck clashed against the bars. The monkey mimicked the crowd, mocking and jeering at the man inside the cage. Bare for the world to see the scars that riddled his skin, his naked flesh was twisted from years of abuse. The man hid his face, watching the shouting crowd through his fingers.

A man with keys broke through the crowd, fumbling with the lock of the cage. He was no rescuer; his sneer was as hostile as the mob that was increasing around the metal bars, fighting for a glimpse at the captive. The naked man tried to escape the cell, crawling towards the small opening as the large, gruff man entered. He screamed in pain as the gypsy kicked him swiftly in the ribs. If the crowd hadn't been so deafening they would have been able to hear the sickening crunch of bones breaking where they had barely had time to heal from the last blow.

The gypsy grabbed the rope that was tied at his waist, grabbing the emaciated man's wrists and prying them from his face. The crowd was a mixture of horror and fascination as they set their eyes on the hideous face disfigured man cried out in pain as the gypsy repeatedly kicked him, pushing his face into the rough hay that was stained from his blood.

"Feast your eyes on a creature drawn up from the sulphur pits of Hell!"

"Whip him!" Someone shouted from the crowd, making one voice become the masses as they shouted for his punishment. Punishment for what? They punished an unfortunate man for the way his born?

The gypsy laughed coldly, kicking the devil onto his back. He pressed his hard boot against his burning chest. "The masses want to see you suffer."

"Please." He cried, cringing as the whip came into view. The sickening crack flooded his senses, as he let out a primal scream of agony.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Four._

_Five._

_Six._

"Stop!" He cried as his body contorted with each cutting blow to his already bruised and battered chest. The smooth leather licked across his chest and arms, cutting him and bruising him as the crowd cheered at his pain.

"How many?" Cried the gypsy, caught in the whirlwind of shouting and cheers from the malicious crowd.

"Hasn't he paid enough?" A sweet female voice asked. The beaten man tried to see who it was that had suddenly silenced the crowd. His vision blurred with blinding pain and hysterical tears. The gypsy's weight against his broken ribs made him gasp for air that was starved from his lungs. The blood from each lash coated his broken body. He tried to focus, seeing the curly haired girl standing behind the bars.

"Aye little lass, did you say something?" The gypsy sneered, stepping away from the wounded man. "Throw her in!"

The crowd let out a roar of excitement as the brunette girl was thrown into the cage.

"Make her pay!"

"Demon lover!"

"Satan's whore!"

"No!" Erik shouted as he watched the gypsy reach for his cowering angel. "Stay away from her." The vile man, ripped at the petite girl's white dress, pushing her against the bars of the cage.

"CHRISTINE!" Erik screamed as he woke from his nightmare, jerking straight up in the bed. He desperately pulled at his shirt, panting in the cold sweat of his nightmare. "No!"

"Erik, Erik, Erik." Christine cried, trying to rouse the man beside her who was still convinced he was asleep. His eyes were clinched shut as he clung to her. "I'm here. I'm here."

"Christine, I won't let them hurt you. No one is going to harm you."

"I'm fine Erik." Christine stroked her fingers through his hair as she buried his scarred face into her chest, his body trembling against her. "Wake up. You were dreaming."

"Please don't hurt her!"

"No one's hurting me."

"Christine," He murmured against her soft skin, his hands clutching at her shoulders as she wrapped her arms around his back. "Christine."

"What was happening?"

Erik started to let himself come out of the nightmare, forcing his eyes open and forcing himself to focus on Christine's face. "I was in the carnival again. I was a grown man, not a child. Oh, Christine!" He wept against her skin, his tears dampening her shift. "Again and again he broke my ribs. The pain was so real."

"Erik," Christine soothed, his crying made her heart ache. "It's alright. I promise you, you are safe now."

"Christine, you couldn't hear the crowd. They cheered for every kick, the chanted for more and more abuse. More than any human could ever bear. I was nothing more than a demon to them, something to laugh at and watch the suffering. The whip tore into my scarred and still healing skin, over and over again. You were there; your voice silenced the crowd. But the man forced you into the cage."

"Shh," Christine pressed a kiss to his head, feeling hot tears drifting down her cheeks. His nightmare was not a figment of his imagination; it was a twisted retelling of the past. He had suffered so much as a child and it had transformed him into the man that he was. The good and the bad.

"He was going to take you Christine, why would I dream such dark things?" Erik's body was racked by sobs as he pulled himself away from her bosom. Her hands instantly went to cup his cheeks, massaging the burning skin.

"You can't help what you dream, Erik. Dreams are our mind's way of coping with life." Christine pressed her lips against his, trying to calm his turmoil with a soft touch.

"Oh Christine if you knew what I went through as a child. If you knew the agony and the suffering I was met with everyday. No compassion anywhere. No one to wipe away my tears. I was left alone in the cold cage, naked and exposed for hungry eyes to watch and mock. They rejoiced in my suffering, my cries of pain and the crack of the whip as it tore into my already twisted and ruined flesh."

Christine bit her lip as she watched him cry as his mind drug him through his childhood. She was helpless and speechless. What did you say to a man who had been raised to only know the touch of a whip and the kick of ruthless man, his only lullaby had been the chanting of a blood thirsty crowd of spectators.

"I prayed to God to let the wounds be deadly, let my lifeblood bleed from my torn flesh as I lay, paralyzed by pain of the rough hay. I cried out to a God who ignored my pain. Ten years of suffering and agony he mocked me like the crowds that watched me."

"It was all in His perfect timing. Had you died, where would I be?"

"Christine." He cried, rolling away from her and sitting up in the bed. "You are my angel. You are my reward for my suffering."

"I am worth all of that turmoil?" Christine questioned, curling beside him and letting her cheek rest against his chest. His heart hammered against his ribs, beating loudly into her ear. "Broken bones and broken pride?"

"Not even my mother cradled me to her bosom when I wept, Christine and you welcome me with open arms. Not even a whore would take me to her bed and you welcome me with open legs. No human would care for me and you welcome me with an open heart."

Her heart burned at the pain he had suffered. No human deserved to feel the pain that he had felt. He didn't deserve to be hunted down because he was a murderer. How else would a child raised with such suffering and cruel beatings know how to function? Cruelty would be met with cruelty.

"How can someone do this to someone?" Christine asked, closing her eyes and leaning up to kiss his trembling lips.

"I wasn't a human to them. Why would any mortal child be born with a face like mine? The devil had taken my face into his hand and burned the flesh with fire and brimstone. He filled my mind with dark deeds to do on earth and sent me above ground to do his bidding. They never killed me no matter how hard they tried. I kept fighting even in defeat. Christine, your love is the only thing that has ever made me defenseless. It's the only thing that has wounded me to the very core."

Christine wrapped her arms around him, pulling him onto his side to face her. She curled her arms around his scarred torso, engulfing him in a tight embrace. "If I could take away your pain I would."

"Being with you has done more than just that." Erik sobbed into the mess of tangled curls. For the first time he felt that he wanted her just to be there to comfort him and hold him. There was no burning desire to make love to her or seduce her. There was only the dying need to have her acceptance and compassion.

**A/N: Feedback is greatly desired for this chapter. I actually dreamed about this and I want to know if it is an accurate interpretation of the dark, wounded creature that is Erik.**


	35. Chapter 35

**A/N: Note of reference, this is what the Phantom looks like without his mask. I think LND did really good with his disfigurement! Only with hair. I don't like the completely bald thing. I'm more of a fan of the dark black hair being his, only thinner on the left side. **

**(WorldWideWeb)(.)****ra*min-()kari*mloo(.)tum*blr****(.)(c*o*m)/post/3624157894/ramin-karimloo-love-never-dies  
Remove ()s and *s , and obviously write out www (:**

**~o~**

Erik skilfully played the instrumental version of the ballet he had written for her, glancing over his shoulder occasionally. She was gracefully dancing across the room, stretching and leaning, leaping and spinning in enchanting ways. Even with the thought that her lean dancer's body would soon begin to grow more and more, he knew he would always think she was the most beautiful dancer he had ever laid eyes on.

Christine smiled when she saw his eyes lingering on her agile body. The music was new to her, but it bore his every mark and mastery and she seemed to know when it would swell or change directions. He was part of her whether she could accept it fully now. She loved him more than even dancing, but she still wondered how her masked angel could posses her.

"I think that's enough for us today," Christine said as she curtseyed and stepped lightly towards his piano bench. "Thank you for that. It was beautiful."

"_Ma Ange Ballet_ is what I've named it." Erik reached for his leather gloves, only to have her hand intercept him. "What is it?"

"Haven't I told you before that you do not need to wear these or your mask?"

"Christine," Erik narrowed his eyes, jerking the gloves from her grasp. "However, I have always told you not to irritate me."

"I haven't intended to irritate you. I only meant let you know that you don't need to hide yourself from."

Erik cringed as she reached for his hands, holding them in hers. "Don't you understand what all of this acceptance and understand does to me? I don't understand it."

"I'm sorry." Christine bowed her head, pulling her hands away from his. Every time the passed the next dangerous path there always seemed to be a crumbling plateau the threatened to send them back in an avalanche of debris, to the beginning.

Erik pulled his leather gloves on over his scarred skin, glancing at Christine hesitantly. "I just don't understand how to let my guard down. No matter what we've gone through I just feel the need to rip it back and build up my walls. It hurts my soul to allow someone so much control over me. I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to snap on you. You just have to understand how to let me be at peace in my mask and gloves. I have to hide this beast I am. No one accepts it, no one understands."

"I've accepted you. I've made love to you again and again with that horrid face bare for me to see as plain as the hands in front of me."

"Horrid?"

"What other word is there to describe it?" Christine snapped, pouncing up from the seat and turning her back on him.

Erik growled at her movement, rising on his feet and grabbing her arm. He forced her to face him, tearing the mask from his face and staring down at her. "What does this mangled head stir inside of you?" He jerked her close with each harsh tug. "Fear? Anger? Hatred?"

"Love." Christine whispered as she stared into the sagging eye that shone brightly with a look she could akin to a frightened caged animal.

Her love caged him like he had been when he was no more than a freak for entertainment. It caged him and freed him He had never felt alive until she wrapped herself around him and gave him her all. "_No_. Tell me every word that comes to your mind when stare at this monstrous face."

Christine trembled under his gaze, giving into his hold and giving up the fight. "When I look into your face I see a pitiful creature. I see someone who was beaten and abused because of something that he had no control over. I see a hideous man with a half of a skeleton head. I see an ugly, disfigured, terrifying, hearth wrenching, beast that could only be described as something drawn up from hell. But more than any of those things I see the man I am in love with."

Erik gritted his teeth as he released her arm. His angle was not lying to him. No matter how hard she tried to be firm and cold she graced him with an undeserving flow of love and kindness. His breath trembled as he covered his face in shame. "You cripple me."

Christine bit her lip as she watched him sink to his knees before her. "Erik, I only speak the truth."

"I cannot surrender my all to you." He groaned as she wrapped her arms around him to comfort, not knowing she made him feel even more pain. "You give me your soul and I give you only a sliver of what I wish I could pour out for you."

"What keeps you from giving me your all?"

"I am a murderer."

"What does that mean for our love?"

"They say you give up part of your soul every time you take a life. After _Don Juan_ I should hardly have a soul to claim."

"You have a soul. You have _my _soul."

"Oh Christine. How can I take your soul and corrupt it like I did to my own. If I can't keep my own safe why would you entrust me with your beautiful, pure, angelic soul?"

"Because I trust you with my life."

Erik fought the urge to grip her neck between his leather gloved hands and squeeze every ounce of her life from her body. Proving that he could kill destroy her. But he would only be hurting two lives, two that he cherished more than anything in the world. He had hurt her enough and that was how he knew she had changed him.

"Christine." Erik breathed, slowly lifting his head to stare at her. "You cannot blame me for this madness you are trapped in. This world of darkness and sin."

"No one is to blame. Blaming implies that it is wrong when it is so very right." Christine reached out and stroked her fingers across the distorted skin. There couldn't be any wrong in what they were.

~o~

"I need my gun." Raoul snarled at his butler as his manservant helped him dress, straightening the Viscount's clothes for him.

"You are drunk monsieur and a weapon could prov-"

"If I wanted your input I would have asked!"

"Yes monsieur," The butler bowed before exiting the room in search for his weapon of choice.

"My rapier as well!" Raoul called after him, his tone bled with anger and fury. "Let go of me!" Raoul shouted at the servant who was tying his cravat. "You're doing it wrong."

"Yes sir." He muttered, gathering up his master's discarded bed clothes. "Your linens need to be changed?"

"They are tarnished with that scullery whore's blood." Raoul replied waving the servant away nonchalantly. "Take them away."

The servant glared at him, wanting to say something about the mess of a girl who was most likely still bawling her eyes out in her little cubby room beside the kitchen. When had the young gentleman been replaced with a ruthless monster?

"If Christine had only told me she hadn't wished to marry we would not be in this mess. But the ignorant harlot never spoke a word of disinterest. It's amazing how easily a woman can contort her emotions to give the sick illusion of love."

"I am sorry sir."

"Don't be. Be sorry for the little creature when I get done with her. If damning herself to a life with a murderer was bad..." Raoul laughed harshly thinking of all of the ideas he had of making her pay for her transgressions.

"Monsieur, your weapons." The butler appeared in the door way, a pistol and a rapier in his hands. "You are sure that you can handle these?"

"Bring me another mug of ale."Raoul sneered, taking the weapons from him. He studied the pistol, aiming it at a painting on the wall. "A bullet through the monster's ruined face."

"Would you care for me to bring you the barrel of ale?"

"Silence!" Raoul snapped, storming past the butler. "There are more important matters to attend to. If I am called upon inform them I paying a visit to an old friend."

"Who would that be, monsieur?"

"Madame Antoinette Giry and her daughter. If there are any answers, they will have them."


	36. Chapter 36

Raoul crossed his arms across his chest; his glare was sceptical as Madame Giry sat stiffly in her chair. She was not very convincing when she explained that she had no idea where their mutual friends were. The Phantom of the Opera was a ghost but he never seemed to vanish.

"He said that he had been contacted to compose music, he never gave any names."

"You knew that _he_ had _my_ wife and yet you let him go without a second question?" Raoul growled, balling his fists at his side. "

"He said that he was to stay in Paris. I have learned that you do not question the Opera Ghost."

"Even when the madman has taken _my_ wife?"

"He did not seem interested in the subject. He was genuinely unconcerned about Christine."

Meg stepped further into the room from where she had been standing and listening to the discussion, "He said that he hated her so furtively. They had seemed so in love when they stayed here. How quickly love can vanish."

"Christine still held a flame for that hell spawn demon. She denied me the rights of my marriage." Raoul snarled, ignoring the pain he felt in his head.

"Then the child?" Madame Giry covered her mouth in shock. She knew that Christine and Erik were romantic physically, but she had not imagined that they had slept together. How many years had she yearned for the strange creature she had brought to the Opera House? He had never seemed interested in giving her even a note of music much less his full attention.

"The child is the bastard's!" Raoul snapped, "As you see he has surely lost all caring for the little damned slut."

"Raoul," Madame Giry said firmly, rising to her feet. "I do not approve of words like that used in my house." Meg gave her mother a sceptical look, knowing that those words were used frequently enough.

"How else would you like me phrase it? My wife screwed the hideous murdering Opera Ghost and denied me the pleasures of my marriage. She chose a disfigured madman over a handsome Viscount." Raoul felt sick to admit what his wife had done.

Meg stepped forward slowly, placing a calming hand on Raoul's shoulder. "I am sure Christine did not mean to hurt you the way she has. The blame for all of this can be placed in my hands."

"How?"

"I knew she had some childish crush on her Phantom tutor, but when he became patron." Meg shook her head, "I convinced Christine to try to rekindle her flame with her childhood sweetheart. You came to her dressing room after _Hannibal_ and it seemed that my fantasy for the two of you was fate."

"You cannot be blamed for Christine's mistakes. She alone is to blame for this madness she has drug me into." Raoul shrugged away from the blond ballerina's touch. "She alone made her mistakes and will pay for them when I find her."

"There is one place where they could be." Madame Giry said quietly, deciding that it was time to abandon the protection she had sworn her life to. They had given Erik their all and they were left with nothing in return. He deserved whatever Raoul intended to give him.

~o~

Christine held the mirror up and glanced at her reflection, reaching for her brush next to comb through her hair. There was no one to see, no audience to entertain, no one to impress but she still couldn't help but want to make sure she looked her best. No matter how she looked Erik still stared at her like she was a goddess. She could never tell if his gaze was adoring or honoured. Sometimes she could see the amazement in his eyes when she would touch him or kiss him.

There were so many details to the man. So many flaws and so many twists and turns in who he was that mirrored his marred skin. She would never understand him completely, no matter how hard she tried. Every time they had a breakthrough he hid himself again. She understood that everything that had happened with Raoul had broken the trust she had had with him. Trust that could never be rebuilt, because he saw her as unfaithful. She had never meant to hurt him or Raoul.

She had seen the pain on her true husband's face when he discovered she was pregnant. How had she hoped that he wouldn't guess that she was? When would he have realised when he sought to make her his wife when he returned, took away her clothes and saw the swell? Or perhaps she could have got away from his advances and let more time pass, when she was even more prominent? She had never meant to hurt him or drive him to where he now was.

Christine could remember his father all too clearly. She had made his image into the villain in all of their childhood stories. Raoul was the splitting image of the late Count. She had never seen Raoul's brother – not even at the wedding. Phillipe had been sent away when they were children to some prestigious place and where he was now, she couldn't be sure. She could never imagine the older de Chagny looking like his father and brother, she pictured him more frail like their mother.

The Count de Chagny was a sever man, despite his more effeminate features. He was not spindly or frail, instead he was well muscled and proud looking. Much like Raoul looked. He was a cold man who spent long hours in his parlour drinking away the day. On occasion she had seen him lay a cruel hand upon the Countess de Chagny and even Raoul.

Raoul had hated the man with every fibre of his being, but now – no thanks to her – he had become him.

Young Raoul had always been full of youth, beauty, a tender heart and a kind spirit. He cared for Christine like she was his own sister. Her father had warned her against be to gracious of his affections, their time was quickly fading from the manor. With Gustave growing more ill and the Count was growing less patient with the frail violinist.

Their time had been cut short, for some divine reasoning she hadn't seen until now. Had she stayed the daughter of Raoul's violinist she could be assured that their childhood romance would have blossomed into something desperately romantic. But at the same time lacking. She would have never known what being with Erik was like and she would have lived her life as Raoul's wife feeling empty.

"Christine," Erik started, startling her from her thoughts. "What has got you so lost in thought?"

"Nothing honestly," Christine laughed, setting the mirror down beside her on the bed. "What are you reading?"

"Greek mythology."

"And what do the Greeks have to say?"

"Perhaps you will find this interesting," Erik opened the book, flipping through a few pages until he found the page he wanted. "The first humans frightened the gods. They had created a creature that had four arms, two heads, two mouths, four eyes, two noses, four legs. Out of fear at the power they harnessed, Zeus decided to split them into two beings. He cast them to separate ends of the earth to keep them from joining again as one being."

Christine smiled at the story, "But I believe we have been joined together."

"Perhaps my face is not an act of the Devil cursing me, but Zeus's cut burning my cheek." Erik sat the book down on the bed beside her mirror and brush, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. There was no other explanation for the way he felt with Christine, besides soul mate. Even if his soul was black and rotten, she still wanted to share hers with him. The light in his never ending void of darkness.

Christine wrapped her arms around his neck, tugging him down lower. She pressed her lips against his, melding their lips together. "Two lips."

"One and a half noses," Erik quipped, letting his lips dance across her nose.

"Four eyes." Christine planted tender kisses against his eye lids, careful as she kissed the nearly translucent skin over his sagging eye.

"Four arms," Erik rasped, pushing her back against the bed hungrily. "Four beautiful arms." Erik resumed kissing her, running his hands along her arms. She gracefully wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Four legs." She pulled away from his lips, kissing her way across his twisted cheek. Erik pushed her further back against the bed, turning them so they weren't awkwardly stretched across the mattress.

"Two people made one." Erik swallowed hard as she stared down at her, wanting to feel their passion consuming them. He hardly heard the shattering glass as the mirror that had sat on the bed crashed to the floor. He could only hear the roar of desire drumming in his ears, coursing through his veins.

~o~

"He has mentioned Notre Dom before," Madame Giry said as they stared up at the church, "This may be an empty lead, but it is all I can give you."

"Thank you." Raoul snapped as he headed towards the building.

"Keep your hand at the level of your eye."


	37. Chapter 37

"Where is he?" Raoul threatened, hand hovering above the pistol at his waist, as he stared at the first priest who stopped him. "Where is the hell spawn demon?"

"Monsieur I do not understand," The priest motioned for several of the other priests to come closer. "There are no others here. There are only my brothers and I."

"Where are you hiding him?" Raoul snarled again, "You would hide an adulterous woman and her demon lover in a holy building? You would allow such sin in your place of worship?"

The priests exchanged glances, never breaking the blank stares on their faces. "If you would please remove your weapons." They motioned for Raoul to give the weapons to them but he only pulled the pistol on them.

"Tell me where they are!" Raoul raised the pistol in the air, pulling the trigger and letting the first warning shot ring through the grand room. "Last warning."

"There is no one here, Monsieur. If there was anyone here they would have had to speak to us. We do not take in wayward folk and runaways. We provide a meal, clothing when needed, prayer, and we provide them with money if they need."

"You have not seen a man with the curse of your enemy upon his face?" Raoul laughed hysterically, "You would lie to me? Risk your lives to save his devil's soul?"

~o~

Erik lay back against the bed, pulling Christine close to him. He showered her cheeks with kisses, smoothing his hands across her warm silken skin. Every time they shared this experience together, he learned something new about her. Some new way to make her mewl, to make her tremble, to make his worship more powerful. He understood what love was every time he died with her.

"Mon amour, ma belle, mon ange." He punctuated every word with a tender kiss. She made him feel alive with the ways she cared about him. She was intoxicating and possessing. He could drown in her and never want to be taken up for air.

Their tender afterglow was broken by a shattering sound from above the crypts. Erik pulled away from her, staring up at the ceiling and straining to listen.

"What was that?"

"A gunshot." Erik rose quickly to his feet, jerking his trousers on and leaving Christine unwillingly behind in the bed.

"Where are you going? I thought you said we were safe down here?"

"It could be your fop of a husband trying to play hero again."

"I don't want to be rescued by him, Erik. Please just stay down here where it is safe. There is no point to tempt fate twice. You barely survived your last encounter with him."

"I will best him this time," Erik snapped, pulling his shirt over his head and walking across the room for his waistcoat next. "I will prove to him that I am the one who has won you. That I have the upper hand." Erik dug through a trunk, removing a pistol and checking to see if it were loaded. Satisfied with the gun he reached for his "magical lasso", quietly savouring the feel of having his weapon of choice in his hands once again.

"Erik don't risk your life to prove that you are better than him." Christine wrapped the sheet around her body, travelling across the room to follow Erik. "Please Erik. We are finally happy."

"No." Erik gritted, turning and pushing her away from him. "I will not be satisfied until Raoul is put in his place. You are _mine_."

"Erik, please." Christine trembled as Erik shoved away the slate stone that concealed their doorway. "Please, do not do this. If not for me, for our child."

"I am doing this for both of you." Erik snarled, as she slipped through the doorway, pulling the slate closed behind him. He knew there was no way that she could move the covering. She was safe until he returned. Or if worst came to worst she would be cared for by the priests. He had plans that would be set into motion in the occasion of his demise.

Erik could already hear the Viscount's shouting as he continued up through the crypt. He could hear the cold, cruel things he said of Christine. He was rambling without end, no doubt waving the gun about, like a schoolboy rebel that thought he could win a revolution.

As Erik drew near, he let a menacing laugh escape from his lips. Letting it thunder like it had so many times to warn his next victim of his emanate approach. "Do you believe that you can win?"

"Who's there?" Raoul jerked, his finger dangerously cocked on the trigger as he spun around the cathedral, searching ever wall for the concealed voice. There were too many ornate edifices on tombs, to many grandly designed carvings where anyone could blend in. "Come out you coward. I've bested you before?"

"Bested me before you say?" Erik sneered, hiding behind one of the columns where he could just see the Viscount and the priests.

"I'm not afraid of you!"

"Of course, of course." Erik let out a fiendish cackle. "Not afraid of the man who has, what was that you said? Stolen _my_ wife?"

"She is _my_ wife." Raoul corrected, searching desperately for any shape that could be the Phantom's.

"But I was the one who took her. I am the one she gave her love and adoration. It is I who she so willingly submits her very soul to. I am the one that makes her cry out those, sweet passion fuelled words. But of course, _your _wife."

"Bastard!" Raoul shouted, grasping his head in pain. "She chose me!"

"Who are you fooling?" Erik taunted, looking around the column again to see if his shot was clear.

"Show yourself!" Raoul snarled, aiming his gun at the priests again. "I'll kill them and then I will kill you!"

Erik stepped out from behind the pillar, making a grand entrance of himself. "Ah yes, the ferocious Papillion." He smirked, keeping his hand on the pistol.

"Look at you, foul as sin. Hideous - horrible." Raoul stared in horror at the half faced, skeleton. To think that his beautiful Christine had chosen him over himself. He was handsome and he was a rotting cadaver.

"Look at you, stinking drunk and pitiful. The Viscount reduced to a drunkard." Erik laughed coldly, "Can't even get a pretty little ballerina to give him the privilege of his wedding night."

"Monster!" Raoul screamed, raising the gun and aiming it at Erik. He pulled the trigger without a second thought.

**A/N: Ooooo I so just did that (: And guess what? I might not be able to post at all this whole week! Ha, ha, ha. But then again I probably will just because I want to know what's going to happen! Anyone like the use of Devil Take the Hindmost? Anyone heard David Thaxton singing it with Ramin? Check out Youtube and take a listen. It's pure win. **


	38. Chapter 38

As the shot rang out, Erik lunged towards Raoul. He could be thankful that the drunken fop was unable to aim in his intoxicated state, otherwise he would have not been returning to Christine. Erik latched onto the gun, trying to pry it from the fighting hands of Raoul.

"Remove your hands from me creature!" Raoul roared, digging his nails into the Phantom's hands. "I will kill you!"

Erik pressed his heel into the Viscount's toes, relishing in the yelp that was released from the young man. With a swift turn of their hands Erik slammed his elbow into Raoul's face. "You will not be killing anyone."

"I will take my wife back. She is my wife!" Raoul was close to the point of breaking as he recoiled from the Phantom, without his gun. "I am married to her and I will have her back."

"She is having my child. Why would you want a bastard? Why would you want to raise my child as your own?"

"I will have a slip of a poison dropped into her drink. I am sure she has told you all of the cruel things she suffered in my home. Perhaps she said how terrible it was to have three luscious meals a day, succulent and full. Or perhaps it was this handsome face she had to look upon. Did she say that my kisses were putrid to her?" Raoul let his hand hover over his rapier, ready to pull it out. "But with your face and your disfigured lips, your horrid corpse body and dead soul I do not understand why it's eye that she abhors."

"Because she is not so shallow that she focuses on appearances." Erik retorted, giving his advisory and menacing grin. "I believe you do not know _our_ Christine as well as you think you do."

"She is mine! I won her fair and square. I have loved her since I first laid eyes on her. I cared for her since she was a child. I love her! I married her. My every desire in life was to make her my wife and to care and cherish her for the rest of her lives. You ruined my life!"

Erik frowned, "I cannot be blamed for ruining your life. Christine chose me. The day you pried her from my life was the very day she gave me her mind, soul, heart, and _body_. She vowed to me words that a husband and a wife say to one another and vowed to her those same words. You were married by a priest and I was married by our love and a God that finally shined into my life. Christine was mine. Her father gave her to me when she was only eight, I promised my life to protect his daughter."

"Why would Gustave give a demon his precious daughter?"

"Because he saw what no one else would see in me. He saw a caring man and a diligent tutor. He saw a fitting person to care for his daughter." Erik closed his eyes, remembering the young child who had blossomed into the beautiful woman. "Raoul, there is no King Solomon to split our love in two. But I will have you know if there were a man who threatened to split Christine into two I would let you have her. I have waited all of my life for her. Someone to understand me and love me. But if it is between her life and happiness and my feelings I would let her go in the beat of a heart."

Raoul lowered his hand, covering his face in shame. "You love her enough to let her go?"

"I let her leave with you the first time, I let you take her the second time, I left her after I laid with her the night before she married you, I watched your wedding and I let it happen, I kept watch on her everyday and never interfered. I am willing to let her happiness overwhelm my desires. I love her more than I love music, more than I cherish the sounds it makes in my ears, I worship her more than the melodies I create. She is the air, she is the music, she is the notes, she is my heart, she invades every part of my life."

Raoul wilted to his knees, "You cannot be capable of such love."

"You think because my face is distorted that my heart is distorted? You think because I murder that I cannot love? I have been denied all the cares of the world and I would give you _my _caring world. Even if it kills me."

"I cannot, no. I love her!"

"Would you let her be with me if she was happy?"

"No." Raoul wept into his hands. "I deserve her. I have waited for years to be with her."

"Did you? You never tried to contact her before you saw that she was the star."

"I did not know where she was."

"Gustave never told his daughter's closest friend where he was taking her?"

"No!" Raoul shouted, his voice echoing through the cathedral. "Once I saw here there on stage I remembered _my_ Little Lotte."

"Believe what you will Viscount, but your wife has decided her fate. In your best interest for your health and life, I would strongly insist that you have the marriage dissolved. Oh, look what we have here. A church. Priests."

"I will not give into your plots! I will leave here with my wife." Raoul quickly stood to his feet, drawing his rapier. "And I will leave here with you put in a grave once and for all. I will do what I should have done months ago."

Erik closed his eyes, inhaling and exhaling deeply. "If this is what you plan to do, I am unable to change your mind. Please give my condolences to Christine. Tell her... If you love her let her go." Without another word Erik dropped the Punjab lasso to the floor, laying the guns down at his feet. He stretched his hands out, standing ready for the feel of a rapier piercing his stomach or chest. He waited for something that never came.

Eyes opening, he realised that the only ones who stood around him were the priests. Silently watching in awe as the corpse faced man had beaten the Viscount. Erik had not defeated him for good, he was still lawfully Christine's husband. But for now they were safe.

**A/N: My dear Opera Ghost, do not be upset. I have updated, as you see. Now, my dear readers I pose I question for you. Would you care to see me write a dark E/C story? I have this idea in my mind that's very faint. But, I want to know if after this story you'd be interested in this sort of story.**


	39. Chapter 39

Christine felt nothing. She was numb to the pain of being left alone again. What would it take to convince Erik and Raoul that she was not worth risking their lives for? When would Raoul realise that she had chosen who she had chosen. She chose Erik that night after _Don Juan_, but he had let her go. That changed none of her feelings for him. Erik was still the man she loved, the man she chose. No matter how willing he was to give her up.

She looked up when she heard the grinding sound of stone against stone. The slate door pushed away from the concealed hole, revealing Erik. Christine didn't move, she only stared at him in disbelief.

"Christine?" Erik asked after he pushed the slate back and saw that she was still not moving.

Christine wanted to scream at him, to yell at him, tell him everything that he had done wrong. No matter how much she cared for him - how much she loved him – he shouldn't go off and leave her so easily. Instead she continued to stare at him.

"Christine, is something wrong?" Erik asked as he hesitantly approached her. "Are you alright?" He asked again when she didn't respond. He looked down at her, reaching down to take her hands but she jerked away from his touch. "Christine."

"How many times will it take for you to understand that I don't need to be treated like some damsel in distress, that no one needs to stand up and fight for me? I know my own mind. I know that I chose you. But somewhere inside your mind you still don't think it could be possible do you?" Christine pushed her small hands against his firm chest, shoving him as best she could. "You don't think I could have chosen you? You think you have to prove that you're the man who's claimed me, don't you? Did you go up and fight Raoul? Did you kill him? Did you taunt him? Did you tell him of all the things we've done? Did you call me _my_ Christine?"

"Christine," Erik started, gently pulling her hands away from his chest. He tried to take her hands in his, but she ripped them from his grasp.

"Did you?"

"All but one."

"Which one?" Christine snapped, staring up at him with cold eyes.

Erik finally snapped, with a frustrated growl he turned around, untying his cravat in one aggravated jerk. "Oh do not worry yourself over your foppish husband Christine. He's alive! He sparred the hideous monster you claim to have chosen."

"Erik! You are insufferable." Christine snarled, following after him. "Do you not listen to one _single_ word that I say? Do you honestly pick and chosen what sentences hear? Manipulate them into some half breed version of my words?"

"I listen to your actions, they speak louder than wor-" Erik had only just turned around when Christine's lips were suddenly against his. He pushed her away, enjoying the brief moment. "What are you doing?"

"Actions speak louder than words." Christine shrugged her shoulders out of his hold. "I figured if you wouldn't listen when I say that I _chose you_, that perhaps my lips would prove my point."

"Why are you so angry with me?"

"You twist my every word, you twist them all against yourself when they are all for you." Christine latched her hands on to his shoulders, making him stare into her face. "I chose you, I love you, but you.." She bit her lip to keep it from trembling, "You always leave me."

"I only want the best for you."

"The best is being with you." Christine cupped his mismatched cheeks in her hands. "But every time you pry yourself away from me to go fight some battle that's already won or to lay down your life as a martyr for something you've already given your life to." Christine leaned up and pressed her lips softly against his. "Why do you always have to leave me?"

"I would rather you be happy than be with me." Christine started to speak but Erik shook his head. "I know you have chosen me, but I don't see me as the best choice for you. I know you love me, but I am not worthy of your love. No matter how many times you say that I do. Oh Christine. I understand that to love you is to let you go. If the Viscount can protect you, care for you, provide for you, and give you the normal life you deserve than I will sacrifice my happiness for yours. You will never lead a normal life with me. Can you bear to live your life in the basements, crypts, and cellars of buildings? No light to shine on your face in the morning, no cool night are against your cheeks in the evening? You would live your life in the shadows. No balls, no galas, no extravagant social events. Who would want a disfigured murderer and his beautiful lover to attend their events? You career would be over. You would not be able to go anywhere and perform. One warning that you were Christine Daae, the voice of an angel with a demon as her tutor, and you would be sent out of the concert hall. Is that the life you want?"

"Yes."

Erik felt his breath hitch as he stared into her eyes. His ears had to deceived him, Christine couldn't have said yes to that life. She was a woman made for grandeur, not for the gutter.

"Christine."

"I chose you and whatever life that means."

Erik wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his arms. "I love you Christine. I love you."

"Love isn't always about sacrifice, it's about fighting for what you love." Christine whispered as she burrowed her face against his chest. "Please don't leave me again."

Erik shook his head against her hair, "I never wanted to leave you. I only thought it was best."

"I'm only happy when I'm with you."

**A/N: My dear readers, should I end this story here? Or do you want to know more about what will happen with the baby, Raoul, the Girys? I'll hopefully start the darker E/C after my life calms down and this story is completely finished. For those who read my LesMis stuff, expect updates next week. I've been in a very E/C mood this week. Not feeling Eppie/Enjy and Eppie/Erik :D **


	40. Chapter 40

Christine stretched out on the bed, giving a little groan as her body moved. She sat up slowly, pressing her palms to the bed and leaning against the pillows. She had started spending more and more time in the bed as her belly became increasingly large. They had now been beneath Notre Dame for over five months and she knew she would deliver soon. She had never seen anyone give birth, or had spoken with anyone who had been through the experience. She only knew that her mother had died giving birth to her, which meant she could easily leave Erik behind with a child and no one wife or alone without either.

He showered her with constant affection and concern. She could see the worry in his eyes every time she mentioned feeling the baby kick, or felt sore, or overly tired, or nauseous. He worried about her day in and day out. He kept her happy with a plethora of food and attention and care and music. He had written a lullaby for their unborn child, a sweet melody that outshone any of his previous works. It wasn't passionate or seductive, there were no hidden meanings behind the lyrics - there was only a father's love and adoration for his child.

It had been a peaceful and quiet five months. They spent their days and nights lounging in bed, curled into each other's warm embraces. Christine dared to call in cuddling, but that word did not fit anything Erik was. He had surprised her more than anything at how gentle he could be. She had only known him, for so long, as the passionate masked tutor and then as a passionate masked murderer. And now he was her gentle husband and soon father of her child. Happiness and tranquillity had changed his once hostile and violent personality into something so different.

Erik still had so far to come with learning how to control his urges and desires. She could see the dark secrets he carried in his eyes when he would come back to their little home with more than she could imagine he had easily stolen. His Punjab would vanish with him and return when he reappeared. No matter how much love and care she could bathe him in, he would never understand that murder was not always the easiest way out of a situation. But what could she expect from someone who had suffered so much abuse as a child? He was a product of his environment. He had evolved into a new creature in the tender environment that she had created – but the old could not be replaced with the new.

"How is the baby today?" Erik asked, striding towards the bed as he watched her stretching out. She used to be so lithe when she stretched, emulating a beautiful and exotic sleek cat. Now, with his child stretching once flat stomach, she moved completely different. "How are you?"

"We are both doing well." Christine smiled, brushing back her unruly curls from her face. She stroked her hand over her belly, "He or she says hello." She chuckled as she felt a kick.

"I believe it is a boy." Erik said as he rested his hand on her stomach.

"Why do you believe that?"

"You have swollen to the sides more than directly to the front. They say in the books I have read that it is typically the sign of a boy."

"A son," Christine laid her hand over his, giving him a warm smile as he sat down beside her on the bed. "But, you did not say you were reading anything about childbirth. It would be kind if you shared with me. Seeing as I will be doing most of the work."

Erik laughed, leaning towards her and pressing his lips to her. "You will do great."

"Erik, do not hold back crucial information."

Erik narrowed his eyes, "Christine, giving birth is a natural part of a female's life. You should not feel the need to read about it to learn what you must do. When the baby comes, you will know what to do."

"Please Erik." Christine grasped his hands in her hold. "You know that my mother died having me. There was a midwife with her. I will have no midwife or anyone who has gone through labour. I will be alone. I am scared."

"Christine, you are perfect at whatever you do."

"I will die perfectly then."

Erik pulled away from her, jerking his hands away from her touch. "You will not die."

"I did not realise you were God."

Erik opened his mouth, his fists clenched in anger. But before he spoke a word, he closed his mouth and turned his back to her. "Are you hungry?"

"I am."

"I will fetch us breakfast."

"Erik, do not be like this." Christine's brow furrowed as she pushed herself out of bed, swinging her legs over the side. "Please stay. Discuss with me what you have learned."

"Lay back down and go back to sleep."

"Erik!" Christine shouted as he slipped out of the crypt. She let out a frustrated cry as she stood to her feet quickly. Christine gasped, feeling a sudden rush of wetness between her legs. "Erik." She crippled over, clutching her stomach. "Come back." She sobbed, wondering what was going on. As far as she had heard, from whispers and mutters around the Opera House – this was the beginning of labour. Her water had broken and Erik, the only one who had some sort of clue as to what was going on; was gone.

~o~

Raoul paced the floor impatiently. He despised being left to wait for anyone. Especially when he was left to wait for an acquaintance he would rather wish was left in the past. There were so many things in his life that he wished would leave him and stay in the past.

"Monsieur," Raoul turned to see the timid Jane standing in the door way. He hadn't noticed how large her stomach had grown. He was well aware of who was the father of her unborn child, but he had had scandal enough in his life. She could have his bastard brat and he wouldn't give a damn.

"What do you want?"

"Monsieur, Madame Giry and her daughter are here."

"Bring them in then." Raoul gritted, meeting the girl's eyes. "Don't just stand there being a doorstop."

"Monsieur, do you not care?" Jane bit her lips as she stared at him. Her eyes pleaded with him as she rested her hand on her swollen stomach.

"Do I look like I care?" Raoul snapped at her, turning away.

"Monsieur, it is your child."

"You are not Christine. I do not care if you are having a dozen of my bastards. I do not care. Be gone with you! Before you wish you hadn't come here. Do tempt your fate." Raoul jerked her towards him, grasping her arm roughly in his hands.

"Please, I'm sorry." Jane stepped away from him, wilting under his gaze. "I'm sorry."

"Bring the Girys in please."

"Yes Monseiur."

Raoul pushed her away from him, watching as she scurried away from him. He had no conscious left. Nothing inside of him felt sorry or terrible about anything he had done. Jane was a servant; frequently masters of a house would use their servants for favours. If Christine had been his, if she had been swelling with his child, he would have used Jane, or some other servant to ease his lonely nights when Christine was not interested in him.

"Ah, Vicomte, it is a pleasure to see you again." Madame Giry said stiffly as she entered the parlour room. Meg stepped in just at her heels, her eyes wide as she marvelled at the grandeur of the manor.

"Madame Giry, Mademoiselle Giry." Raoul dipped into a stiff bow, motioning for them to sit. "I have asked for you to visit for obvious reasons."

"We have heard nothing from our mutual friend. He has truly been a phantom in our home."

Raoul glanced between Meg and her mother; she sat shyly to her mother's side eyeing the room in amazement. "Do you see what your _friend_ gave up?"

Meg quickly turned to see that he had addressed her and not her mother, "I-" Meg shook her head, glancing at her mother for some sort of support. "I do see."

"Foolish girl." Raoul shrugged his shoulders. "I do not see why she would give this world up for a life in the darkness of a crypt with her dead lover."

"Christine has never been the most clearly opinionated individual. Most of her difficulties are drawn directly from the loss of her father. She yearns for someone who is like her father."

"She yearns for a disgusting hell spawn creature." Raoul slammed his fist against a table. "She left me and this for that demon!"

"I convinced her to be with you." Meg said quietly, "She did not think you would remember her – but I pressed her to be there for you to see. You were no more than a childhood sweet heart that I convinced her should be her lover. I did not know how she felt about the Phantom."

"Then you are the reason for my never ending turmoil." Raoul stared at Meg, sensing her fear. She was such an odd comparison to her mother. She was cold and rigid, so able to hide the truth behind her aging face – while Meg wore every emotion plainly on her young, youthful face.

"I did not mean it happen quite like this. I never expected Christine and her phantom to be like this. She has made no attempt to contact me. I thought she would have."

"It is because _he_ has some spell over out Christine. He is controlling her, I know it." Raoul rested his hand on the back of the sofa. "Mark my words. We _will_ have her back. He will not win again. Madame Giry, with your help we can have those we care about back in our possession."

**A/N: I leave you with a cliffhanger and an Oh-no! Also, may I say, I was not persuaded by your please to finish this story out. I decided that I could not bear to leave myself wondering what was going to happen with my characters. Even if I did start my darker story as well. I'm not a pushover author. I write for myself. I write to make me happy. I write what I want to read, which is why I think I have been successful. **


	41. Chapter 41

Christine let out a hiss of pain as she felt her stomach cramping. She rolled over, letting herself rest on her back as her stomach continued to seize her in pain. "Erik!" She shouted, knowing that her cry was falling on deaf ears. She was alone.

She sat up slowly as the pain seemingly started to fade. As she eased herself up she felt another rack of pain, spiking through her stomach and her back. What did it mean? Was something going wrong? This was why Erik should have told her what to expect. She was a genius, she had no special powers to let her know what to do. She had had no mother to experience a sibling's birth. Madame Giry was a proud widow. She was never interested in letting any of the girls know about womanly things. She always said they should be focused on dance and dance alone.

The girls who became pregnant never stayed at the Opera House to this point in their term. Once they began to show they were quietly asked to leave the company. No one wanted an engorged ballerina on stage.

It left Christine knowing no more about giving birth then she had once known about a sexual relationship with a man. They were things she had been neglected to have been informed of.

"Erik!" She screamed out again, collapsing back against the cool stone floor. She hoped and she prayed that Erik would not pull one of his lengthy vanishing acts when he was irritated, this time. He needed to be here with her through whatever she was experiencing. She couldn't have their baby alone.

~o~

Erik clamoured up the side of the brick wall, skilfully scaling it and slipping through the open window. He hadn't been to the house since his showdown with the fop. He hadn't felt the need to visit his betraying friends. But now, it was a necessity and in the best interest for Christine.

"Madame Giry?" Erik taunted as he descended down the stairs with quiet steps. "I have questions for you my dear old friend, where are you?"

"What do you want?" She sneered as she appeared in the door way. "We thought we'd seen the last of you."

"I need your help."

"Go somewhere else." Antoinette snapped, turning her back to him.

"It's Christine."

Madame Giry paused, Christine was still like her daughter no matter how much she wished to deny it. "What's wrong?"

"She will be giving birth soon I fear. From what I have read, the baby has dropped and everything seems like signs of the final few days or weeks."

"You've come to the wrong person Erik. What do you expect me to do? Perform magic?"

"I want your wisdom in what to do."

"I'm done with helping you."

"Madame Giry!" Erik snarled, grabbing her by the arm. "You will help me."

"I will do nothing of the sort. Unhand me and leave this place. You are unwanted here or anywhere else for that matter. Am I clear?"

Erik frowned, jerking her away from him. "You know what those who prove themselves useless to me fall prey to, don't you?"

"You do not frighten me Erik."

Without another word Erik whirled around, climbing the stairs towards what had once been his room with skilled expertise. He was nearly to the window when he heard a soft voice behind him.

"Take me to her."

"Meg." Erik said quietly, keeping his voice low like she had. "What do you want?"

"Take me to Christine. I do not know nearly as much as my mother. But a woman's comfort could be useful when her time comes."

"How do I know you will not betray me?"

"Because," Meg said quietly, glancing over her shoulder. "Raoul is planning some cunning scheme with my mother. We've only just returned from their meeting. I was not allowed in most of it, but you can only assume that it was nothing good. Please, Christine is in this situation because of me. She has always been terrified of childbirth. Her mother-"

"Died. I know." Erik clenched his fists. Meg had never proven to be anything like her mother. Christine could use the comfort of a friend. "Once we are at ground level I will blindfold your face."

"I know where you hide. Notre Dame."

"Then once we are there I will blindfold your face, upturn any pockets you may possess, and bind your hands." Erik gestured towards the window. "Come if you are coming."

"For Christine, I'll do anything."

~o~

"Erik!" Christine cried again, knotting her fists into her sweat soaked chemise. The pain had become more frequent. The terrible cramping continued with fervent pace. "Erik please come back! God above bring him to me. Erik!" The grinding sound of stone against stone echoed in combination with her piercing scream.

Panting Christine opened her eyes to see Erik rushing towards her, through tear blurred eyes she could see a blond figure at his heels.

"Christine, oh, Christine!" Eirk gasped, kneeling at her side. "What's happening?"

"Erik. Erik. Eirk." Christine muttered as she grasped for his hand, squeezing the gloved digits with all of her might. "Please make it stop."

"I can't make it stop." Erik soothed his hand against her scorching hot cheeks. "How long?"

"Since you left!" Christine cried again, her face twisting as she felt another tremor of pain slice through her body. "I cannot do this."

"You must, Christine." Meg said tenderly as she knelt beside her friend, taking her free hand in hers. "You have to breathe." She hadn't a true clue as to what she was doing. But from what she had gathered from some of her _other_ work associates, Christine was suffering from contractions. The baby was preparing to come. "Deep breath in your nose, out through your mouth."

"Meg." Christine said before obeying the blonde girl. She took a trembling breath, sniffling as she inhaled through her stuffed nose. She exhaled deeply, trying to calm her upset self. "Please make it stop. Someone."

"You're doing perfect." Erik pressed his lips to hers. "My perfect angel."

"Eri-" His name was cut off as she screamed again, squeezing their hands with all of her might. Her breathing was jagged and quick, even with Meg's attempt at coaching it. "I don't know what to do."

"Just breathe and focus." Meg tried to comfort her, "Think about holding your baby." She moved to sit by Christine's knees, shifting the chemise up over her legs.

Erik gave a reassuring smile to Christine, shaking her hold off of his hand and biting his glove off. "There that's better."

"If I die-"

"You aren't."

"The pain Erik."

Meg glanced up at Erik, her eyes wide with concern. "She's bleeding quite a bit. Her chemise is soaked with blood."

Erik stared at Meg for a long moment, wishing she hadn't said that anything was wrong. He didn't want to see the panic in Christine's eyes. This was his happiness. His wife and his child. He would rather have Christine then any child, no matter how much he yearned to be a father now. Christine filled his world with endless delight. To lose her, would be the end of his life.

"Everything is going to be alright."

Christine let out a cry of intense pain, her eyes clamped shut and her grasp on his hand tightened painfully.

"I see something." Meg gasped. "I believe its coming."

"I'm sorry I wasn't here for it all." Erik apologized, squeezing her hand back. "I love you."

Christine tried to respond to him, but instead she screamed, bearing down with all of her might. Suddenly the air was filled with crisp cry of new lungs. Screaming out with all of their might to grasp the fresh air of the new world.

"A son." Meg said proudly, holding the baby in her hands. "I need something to cut the umbilical cord."

"Christine." Erik glanced down at her. "Christine." He grew more worried as he looked down at the limp soprano. "Please, God, no." He shook her, begging God to let it not be real. "Christine!" He checked her pulse, feeling the faint beat of blood pumping beneath her ivory skin. "You can't leave me." He brought her hands to his lips, kissing them over and over again.

"You have a son." Meg said, trying to sound a little firmer as she held the newborn in her arms, trying to soothe its screeching cries. "

"Christine." Erik repeated, over and over again. He held the woman in his arms, hoping his words and prayers would bring her back to the conscious world. If Christine died...

Not even a son of his own could replace the love of his life.

**A/N: I suppose this is considered a cliff hanger... again. I'm bad – I know. But it makes it all the better when I update. Doesn't it? I'm glad to see my Opera Ghost friend you did not threaten me this time. I must be growing on you. Fond of me and my manipulation of you and Christine? (: **


	42. Chapter 42

Erik glared at Meg, his eyes were aflame with fear and anger. "Make the child stop crying." Erik hissed, as he turned his attention back to Christine. He rose to his feet, carefully scooping her up into his arms.

"It is a baby. Babies cry." Meg said cautiously, cradling the infant in her arms. Christine should have been the first one to hold her own baby. "Don't you want to hold your baby?"

"Christine needs me." Erik said over his shoulder as he placed her gently on the bed. She looked so peaceful, too peaceful. Her lips were curved in an upward smile, her eyelashes were unwavering. But her cheeks were pale and warm. She lay too still for her own good. "Christine please. You can't die on me."

Meg watched, glancing between the baby and the Phantom. She had never expected that the man that so many people talked about and drew horrifying stories from was this man. He was reduced to tears and weeping at the loss of Christine. She had pictured Christine living with a cold unfeeling, grotesque statue of a man – but she had spent her time with a vibrant, living, emotional genius.

"Monsieur," Meg started, stepping towards the bed. "Perhaps you should have her hold the baby."

"She cannot even hold my hand."

"It could make her awake."

"You are a foolish girl." Erik spat. The baby. His eyes drifted over the crying infant, deeming it as the b lame if Christine died. A tiny child could have killed his love. It was some unjust payment for the sins he had done. He had created this life with the love they shared and out of it the love was lost.

Meg didn't say another word, instead she offered him the baby again. Her eyes pleaded with him to just attempt the action. Hesitantly Erik reached out for the baby. The urge to kill because it had harmed Christine was lost as the baby's cries stopped.

Green eyes.

His eyes.

The little boy had tawny brown hair like his mother. His high cheek bones were undeterminable as to who it was from. But his beautiful, perfect looks came from his mother. There was nothing ugly or hideous about him that came from his father.

"Gustave." Erik whispered, remembering what Christine had told him to name their son. "A son. My son. Our son." Erik laid the baby in the curve of her limp arm, letting it rest beside her. Erik clamoured into the bed, lying beside his lover and their child. His arm protectively crossed over the infant and Christine. "Please God, please hear my prayer. Let her live."

Meg stepped back, unsure of where she fit into the picture of the family. It was an image she had never dared to imagine. A deformed man shielded with a mask, lying curled beside a newborn child and a woman who was near the door of death. The macabre idea of life and death. And there was the Phantom, neither alive nor dead.

"Erik."

"Christine!" Erik gasped, clutching her hand in his. "Please stay with me."

"The baby?" Christine asked groggily, her lips barely moving as she spoke. "Erik."

"The baby is here. Gustave is here." Erik lifted the baby awkwardly, letting her see the beautiful little baby. "Our son."

"A son." Christine repeated, smiling at the child she had gotten to know for nine months. "Gustave." Weakly she reached for him, wanting to feel the weight of her own flesh and blood in her arms. Erik steadied her arms as she cradled the baby. "My child."

Erik beamed, petting his hand over her hair as she stared down at the baby. "Perfect."

"I'm so tired." Christine mumbled, her words slurring. "I feel so tired."

"No. Christine. No." Erik steadied her arms, taking Gustave from them. "Meg, take him." Meg scurried, lifting the baby into her arms. "It has to be the bleeding. What do you do for bleeding?"

"I don't know." Meg's eyes grew wide. "Could the priests know?"

"Stay here with her." Erik said, pressing a kiss to Christine's lips. "Stay awake."

"Erik, don't go," Christine sought his hand as he moved, grasping it in hers. "I love you."

"I have to find someone who will help you."

~o~

What sort of doctor would rise in the middle of the night to help a masked man and his postlabour wife beneath Notre Dame in their crypt home? Who would even dare to venture to their front door at such an hour? One look at his face and any intelligent doctor would know who he was. As if his masked caricature wasn't slandered all across Paris. Even after months of silence, no one's minds had cleared of the Phantom's dark deeds.

But it was to save Christine and if he had to drag a Doctor to the Notre Dame and wrap a Punjab around his neck to threaten him – he would. He would do anything for Christine. Anything to hear her angelic voice and feel those intoxicating notes resonating through his very soul. To have her in his arms once again, exactly how he wanted her for the rest of their lives.

Erik knocked on the door of one of the medical practices in the city. There was no sound behind the door, no scuttle of a waking maid or the doctor himself. He was ready to leave when saw an amber flame ignite from somewhere inside the building, reflecting through the windows. The door opened slowly, an older gentleman standing in the doorway.

"What sort of man bothers another man at this time of night? The only illness that can be happening is the illness of my sleepless night."

"Please sir," Erik started, trying to keep his blaring white mask in the shadows. "My wife. She has given birth but she is weak. I fear that she will not last the night without care."

"I'm not some damned midwife. You wake those sodding halfwits if there's a child's birth at night. You call me in the morning. Goodnight."

"No!" Erik roared, grabbing the man's arm. "You will come _now_. You will help Christine tonight."

"Let go of me." The doctor fought his hold, his strength was no match for the Erik's. "Damn you man release me."

"No." Erik hissed, turning his face to reveal the mask. "You do not disobey the Phantom."

"Good God!" Erik laughed at the old man's fearing expression.

"Get in there and get what you need to save her." Erik shoved the man back into the house, following him in. "Do not try anything or you'll won't need to worry about sleep for the rest of eternity."


	43. Chapter 43

Erik bound the doctor's hands and covered his eyes, threatening him repeatedly with his life if he dared to pull anything and attempt to leave or to harm Christine in any way. When he returned to the crypt beneath Notre Dame, he found Christine holding their son in her weak arms. Meg sat beside her, keeping a careful watch on her as she spoke to the baby.

Pride swelled in his heart as he watched Christine and their son. It was a sight that he never imagined being able to see. When Raoul and Christine first left him alone in his Opera Populaire lair, he thought it was the last time he would ever set his sights on Christine. Instead, he found himself greeted daily with her beauty and grace and now a child. It was his seed that had swollen inside of her stomach, his life that had been breathed into their son. He had taken what Raoul would never know now.

"Christine," Erik moved towards her, pushing the doctor along beside him. "You will check her and make sure she is alright."

"I'm fine. I'm tired. Very tired."

The doctor cowered as the blindfold was removed, looking around the darker surroundings. "Where am I?"

"It does not matter. You will help Christine." Erik growled, pushing the man towards Christine. "Let me take the child," Erik scooped the baby into his arms, looking down at his perfect face for the first time. "Meg can you keep him?"

"Yes, yes." Meg took the baby into her arms, cradling it gently. She glanced between Christine lying in the bed and the doorway that Erik had carelessly left open. Where would Christine and the Phantom's child be in their relationship? Erik was devoted to Christine alone. Even if he seemed to love the child that love was nothing in comparison to the love he so clearly showed for Christine.

"How do you feel?" Erik asked, taking Christine's hand in his. His eyes focused on the doctor as he checked her over.

"I'm fine." Christine replied quietly, "Just.. tired."

"She appears to have lost quite a bit of blood." The doctor added, pulling her skirt back over her legs.

"Will she be alright?"

"She needs bed rest. If you keep her in bed for several days she should heal."

Christine closed her eyes sleepily, "I would just like to rest."

"May I see the child?"

"Yes, of course." Erik turned, in mid-motion for Meg to bring Gustave near. But there was something terribly wrong with what he saw. "Meg?" She was gone. His eyes widened as he rose from the edge of the bed, "Meg?" His gaze fell on the stone doorway, seeing where he had left it open behind. "No."

"Erik what is it?" Christine asked, reaching for his hand groggily. "Where has Meg gone?"

"She's gone. She's taken Gustave." Erik gritted his teeth, glancing between the door and Christine. "It is time for you to leave." Erik gripped the doctor's shoulder, pulling him away from the bed. "I have business that I need to do."

"I've done all that I can. Please, do not be angry with me." The doctor coward away from Erik, covering his neck in fear of the noose finding its way around him. "Please."

"Go!" Erik shouted, covering the man's face with the blindfold again and jerking his arms behind him. "Christine, I will find our son. I swear this to you."

~o~

Meg knew she couldn't return to her mother's. She would not be happy with her for helping Christine or for stealing away their child. What had she thought of with kidnapping the child? There was nowhere for her to hide that the Phantom would not find her. Except for..

de Chagny Manor.

Meg clutched the baby to her chest as she looked around the street, panicking that the Phantom would be lurking close by. She knocked on the door with a firm hand, hoping that someone would answer the door before it was too late.

"Yes, mademoiselle?"

"Tell the Visount that Meg Giry has come. She needs his help." Meg said as the servant let her in to the Manor. She leaned against the door heavily, relieved to be inside safely out of the reach of the Phantom.

"One moment," He bowed stiffly, leaving her standing in the parlour.

Raoul appeared moments later, sloppily dressed and obviously drunk. "What do you want?" His eyes widened when he saw the bundle in her arms. "What is that?"

"I," Meg cringed, "I do not know where to hide. This is Gustave, this is _their_ son."

"Why have you bought that creature here?"

"They were too focused on themselves to be his parents. I took him. I didn't think of anything but wanting to give him a better life. Please, I couldn't take him back to my mother's. She would be coarse with me."

"You think bringing him here will be any better?"

"I hoped that-"

"Please, he is just a baby."

"He's not mine. He's that demons child. Why would I want to bring him into my house?" Raoul snarled, flopping down into one of the arm chairs. "Leave."

"There was a servant when my mother and I visited. She was pregnant."

"Jane." Raoul looked at Meg questioningly before a grin spread across his face. "You expect me to have her raise their little bastard brat as her own? Would you like to know a little secret? Her bastard child is mine."

"Then she can raise the child. Make her raise the child."

"Jane!" Raoul yelled, startling the baby and making him scream. "Can't you keep him quiet?"

"I'm sorry." Meg cooed, rocking the baby gently. "Shh, Gustave."

"Gustave?"

"After her father."

"I know that."

Jane scurried into the parlour, head bowed submissively. "Yes monsieur?"

"When are you due?" Raoul asked callously, rising from his seat and striding towards her.

"I was told that it could be this week or next week."

Jane glanced at Meg, "Who is she?"

"Meg, bring the child." Raoul motioned, stay close to Jane – sensing how uncomfortable his nearness made her feel. "This is a baby boy who needs a home."

"What happened to his mother?"

"She was a ballerina at the Opera Populaire. After the accident some months ago she decided that she could not bear to keep the child after the father died." Meg lied flawlessly. "She was never right after everything that happened."

"Oh, you poor baby." Jane said kindly, reaching out and taking the infant in her arms. "What's his name?"

"He doesn't have a name." Raoul spoke before Meg could, "But there is a stipulation. No one can know that he was someone else's son. When _our_ child is born this will be that infant's sibling. No matter what anyone says. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Jane trembled, rocking the baby gently in her arms. "I shall name him Alistair, look at those blue eyes. He's a handsome baby. A very handsome little boy."

Meg met Raoul's eyes, seeing how pleased and smug he was. Her heart sank to think of what she had done to Christine. Where would she hide to avoid the Phantom's wrath? She could not stay at the de Chagny Manor without him questioning her stay there? But with her mother she would be instantly found by him.


	44. Chapter 44

Erik roared as he returned to Notre Dame, his arms empty and his heart hurting. He swept his arm into a row of candle labara standing around the altar, sending them crashing to the ground. Flames sputtered and died at his feet. He let out a howl of agony as he fell to his knees and wept. How could he return to Christine empty handed, without their stolen child. The very concept had yet to sink in and already the child had vanished from his life. How could he explain to her that he had searched everywhere he thought Meg could have gone and still couldn't find her? He had been mere moments behind her and yet she had vanished into the early morning darkness with their son.

"God I know that I do not deserve your ears listening to my weak prayer. But bring back my son, our son. Bring him back. I may deserve this punishment but dear, sweet Christine does not. I know that the child was conceived under sinful actions – but you must understand this situation that we were in. God, please. Please. Hear my prayer. All I ever wanted in my life was a wife and a child. Perhaps not legally, but Christine is _my_ wife. And that baby boy, that baby boy, he is my blood. He is a goodness and a pure light that I never imagined in my life. Never imagined being real in my life. Bring him back to Christine, if anyone deserves a son."

There was no sound in the cathedral except for Erik's erratic sobbing. He was hunched over his knees, face buried in his hands, shaking and trembling in pain. Heart wrenching pain that he had never felt before. It was different than when Christine was taken from him. He knew that there would be some way for them to be together again. But with Gustave being taken, there was this unsettling feeling that he would not be able to hold the baby in his arms and truly appreciate him. He had been hard and bitter towards the newborn, blaming him mentally for nearly taking Christine from his life.

Erik stared down at his scarred hands, wondering if he would ever hold the baby boy in them again. Did he even deserve to hold such a pinnacle of joy and goodness in his hands? Taint a pure and innocent soul with his depravities and sin? Was the boy better raised by someone else? Never knowing the monster whose seed he was spawn from?

Slowly, numbly Erik rose to his trembling feet, feeling his legs threatening to sag beneath his weight. Blindly he fumbled through the cathedral, the dull throbbing ache of loss setting hard inside of his very soul. He made his way down the concealed hideaway, creeping along the corridor caught in thought. He pushed aside the stone doorway without concentration and found himself in their crypt home. He could see Christine, exactly where he had left her, lying on the bed.

"Christine." Erik groaned, covering his unmarred cheek in shame as he stumbled towards her. She looked at him with hope at first, before realising that his arms were empty. Her lips pressed out thin on her tired and worn out face. "I have failed."

"Erik.." Christine breathed, shaking her head in disbelief. "No. Where is Gustave?"

"I could not find them." Erik admitted, collapsing on the floor beside the bed, face pressed against the mattress at her side. "I could not find them!" He sobbed, fists knotting in the bedclothes as he jerked the sheets. "Christine forgive me!"

Christine closed her eyes, shaking her head as tears began to stream down her cheeks. "He can't be gone. No. I just, I just held him here. In my arms. Please tell me it's not true Erik!" Christine grabbed his forearm, squeezing tightly. "Please."

"I'm sorry." Erik mumbled, shaking his head over and over again. "I couldn't find him. I just couldn't. I looked. I looked everywhere." He had never felt so wretched in his life. The pain that struck him to the core was surreal, so different from any pain he'd ever felt. It wasn't so much losing his son as it was seeing the hurt and disappointment in Christine's eyes.

"Erik." Christine sobbed, his name cracking as she croaked it over and over again.

"I'm sorry." Erik howled again, not feeling that the words were nearly enough. What words could he say to apologize for his ability to find their missing newborn? How could he admit utter defeat in her eyes? "I have failed you Christine. I have failed you yet again. I do not deserve you when I cannot even please you. I am sorry."

Christine tugged on his arms, pulling helplessly on him. "Hold me."

"My hands do not deserve to feel your soft skin ever again." Erik rasped, trying to shake her hands loose. "I do not deserve to ever posses you again."

"Don't," Christine warned, "I need you now."

Erik slowly rose to his quaking legs, feeling the heaviness and total weight of his sinewy body. He untied the laces for his mask, letting it slip to the floor from his motionless fingers. He crawled into the bed beside Christine, holding her close and cradling her crying form in his arms. She was warm and soft beneath his hands as he held to her. "Forgive me. Please, forgive me."

Christine laughed awkwardly, trying in vain to combat the pain in her heart. "I always forgive you don't I?" She laughed again, finding the whole situation morbidly funny. "No matter how much pain and heartbreak we suffer we're always together. No matter who tries to separate us. But no matter how much we try we can't find happiness."

Erik pulled her closer, melding her body against his. "I only ever wanted to bring you happiness."

Christine rubbed her eyes, trying to vanquish the burning feeling in them. She burrowed her face against his chest. Fatigue, agony, sorrow, guilt, longing, heartbreak, pain had all set in. She had been so numb against it all when she could see the bright little light they'd brought into the world. Without Gustave to remind her of what she had gone through to have him, it all felt like a nightmare that could never end.

"I'm sorry Christine," Erik repeated over and over again as he pressed kisses into the top of her head. He arms had snaked around his chest and were pulling him close to her.

"Please, just hold me. Don't say a word." Christine asked, looking at Erik with red, swolllen, tear stained eyes. "I just want you to hold me close."

"Anything," Erik breathed, rubbing his hands up and down her back.

~o~

Erik couldn't help the fact that the all consuming pain had transformed into an all consuming primal lust. His hands seemed to move on their own accord as the skimmed over her clothed skin, daring to boldly touch her through the cover.

"Erik, no." Christine pushed away his wandering hands, sniffling back the tears she had been fighting for the last few hours.

"But, _Christine_." Erik breathed against her ear, his lips nibbling at the tender ear lobe they found. He was wound up tightly like a coil, ready to snap. The need was blinding as his lip's trail down her neck and then back up, kissing along the line of her jaw, avoiding her lips and kissing back up her cheek bone. He nuzzled against her cheek, surprisingly tender for lustful he was feeling.

"Erik, not even a day ago I felt as though I was being split in half to give birth to our son. I _need_ time to heal." Christine hooked her hands with his, hoping to keep the wandering at bay. "Please. I would indulge in this desire if I could."

Erik groaned, pressing his face into the curve of her neck. He wanted her so achingly bad. He needed to replace the misery with comfort. The agony was overwhelming and he just wanted to be overwhelmed with bliss. But at the same time, Christine was telling him no and to keep pestering her was making him no better than the fop trying to force himself on Christine.

"I'm sorry." Erik hissed, turning away from her in shame. Everything he did resulted in an apology. He could never do anything right the first time. "I just," He sighed heavily, rubbing his face and trying to ignore the desire coursing through his mind. "I don't know how to control these... _feelings_."

"If I weren't sore." Christine pressed her lips against the blade of his shoulder, breathing in deeply. "I could drown my sorrows in you."

Erik gripped the bedclothes, trying to contain himself. He couldn't be so cruel to Christine to go against her word. No matter how hot the need was, he had to learn when and where were the right times to desire to take his lover. He couldn't risk being like Raoul and having Christine hate him anymore than she already did for not bringing Gustave back.

Erik shuddered, trying to think of something mundane and uninteresting to take his mind off of the problem at hand. Music, murder, and Christine were topics that he had to push far from his mind. They were the three things that affected him more than anything else.

**A/N: Not so much "fluff", more sorrow and comfort. I really hope I portray Erik alright. Sometimes I feel iffy about him. But he's such a complex character. I really feel like he would want to make love to her to ease his sorrows. I'm not sure if he would have gone through with it or copped out like my Erik. *sigh***


	45. Chapter 45

Erik busied himself with anything and everything while Christine slept. He had spent the most torturous night beside her that he had ever experienced. His thoughts were stuck between two things; his need for Christine and the need to find their son. When he could no longer bear lying in bed, a slave to his mind he rose and started cleaning the crypt. He sorted through his piles of sheet music, discarding pages that were half used or no good.

He wanted to start writing the heartbreaking melodies that were drifting around his mind and soul, but Christine was sleeping so peacefully that he didn't want to disturb her. His mind wouldn't let him rest. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the task at hand it always switched back to thinking about Gustave or Christine.

Where could Meg have taken Gustave? Why had she taken Gustave? Why would she help them, only to take the child with her? Why would she do this to them?

"Erik?" Christine questioned, sitting up slowly in the bed and looking around for where he had gone. "What are you doing?"

"Anything." Erik snapped back, looking over his shoulder at her. "Anything that will keep my mind off of everything."

"It is not your fault." Christine said softly, shifting in the bed so her feet where hanging over the side. She was tired of lying in the bed. She wanted to get up and be able to walk around. "Help me?"

"Christine, you should stay in bed. The doctor said that."

"But I am tired of resting in bed. I just want to be able to walk around. To sing."

Erik closed his eyes, "No matter how much that I want to hear your voice resonating through my soul, I would rather be able to hear you for the rest of my life, than to lose you now. Stay in bed." Erik moved towards the bed, settling down beside her on the mattress, he took her hand in his and squeezed it reassuringly.

"I just want to sing again. I just want to hold our son." Christine couldn't hold back the tears as they streamed from her eyes. She buried her face against his shoulder. "Oh, Erik!"

Erik stroked her back gently, not sure of what to say to comfort her. He rocked her in his arms, wanting her tears to stop and her whimpering. He felt to blame for her sorrow. He hadn't meant to turn his back. He had trusted Meg.

~o~

Meg stood awkwardly outside the parlour room, waiting for Raoul to finish his private conversation with Jane. She could hardly hear their voices through the thick mahogany door, every so often she heard words like "obligation" "Alistair" "payment" and "secret". Jane burst out of the door, cradling the baby in her arms. She gave Meg a sideways glance as she passed, before turning her attention back to the crying little boy.

"Meg." Raoul called from inside the room, the clank of a glass being sat down followed. "Come in and shut the door."

Obeying without a single question, Meg entered the room – quietly shutting the door behind her and turning back around to face the half drunk Viscount. "Yes?" Her voice trembled, despite trying to keep it from shaking.

"Sherry?"

"No-"

"Have some." He practically shoved the small glass into her petite hand, smiling at her as their fingers brushed. "Now that _that_ matter settled. Don't you just want to drink to this merry occasion?" Raoul snorted a laugh, downing the drink in his own hand.

Meg took a sip of the liquor, before tilting her head back and finishing it off. With a hiss of satisfaction, she walked slowly towards the fire, staring down at the flickering flame. Did she feel satisfied? No. Did she feel happy no? Did she care? No.

"You know, you are a _very_ lovely girl." Raoul walked up behind her, staring down at the flame. He took a chance, setting his hand on her shoulder.

"I've heard that before." Meg said, glancing at him. She shuddered. Was this truly the sort of man she had convinced Christine to be with? Or had her deceit transformed him into the bastard? "I'm not so very naive."

"Not naive?" Raoul ran his hand down her arm, smirking at her trembling. "Oh, please. You were Christine's friend. Until that Phantom got the upper hand, she was an innocent bud, waiting to bloom. Waiting to be _deflowered_."

Meg laughed harshly, "Then it would seem that the Phantom has struck again."

Raoul's eyes lit up, "He has been with you?"

"No." Meg bowed her head, shivering when his hand reached her waist. "But to support him, I was forced to do favours by my mother. Favours for all sorts of men. All sorts of favours."

"Ah," Raoul seemed disappointed with her answer, but continued his exploration nevertheless. "What sorts of favours?"

"For money." Meg gasped as his hands travelled a little too far for her comfort, she jerked away from him. "Pardon me Monsieur Viscount."

"Please, call me, Raoul." He caught her hand, reeling her back in. "I won't make the mistake of having some little whore having my bastard again, _that _is for sure."

Meg's eyes widened, gasping. "Jane?"

"Clever girl." Raoul tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, stroking his finger along her exquisite cheek bone. "I feel like Christine might be disappointed if she found out her _husband_ had got her best friend pregnant, and all the while holding her own bastard brat hostage, with the mother of the first illegitimate child from the de Chagny line. Such scandal." Raoul ghosted his lip against her mouth, pulling her close to him. "Give in."

"Please, Raoul."

"What?" He gritted, staring her in the eyes. "I am tired of being used like this. I'm tired of being second best!"

Raoul grinned at her, "Stick with me, my dear. I won't make you feel like second best."

"Raoul, no." Meg yelped as he pulled her close again, she cringed as he started kissing her again. She couldn't help but give in to his touch. She felt rotten already, what did giving in do to her anyways? She'd spent several evenings with patrons and managers, making deals and keeping funding. What was wrong with doing the same with the former patron and Christine's unwanted husband. Raoul de Chagny, at least he was a handsome man to indulge in. Most were older men who hardly kept what little they had going for them, very long or at all. Raoul would be a breath of fresh air, a moment to drown in the crimes she'd already committed.


	46. Chapter 46

**A/N: I had no control over the last chapter. It honestly wrote itself. I did not expect everything to go down quite like that. But honestly, this story is writing itself with little work from me. Meg, as a note for you all, is a little more like the LND Meg. Not jealous, but having had to sway men with her favours. It would have happened in that time period. Meg was honestly never a "full" character in the movie or musical. LND brought her a little more bite and life. **

Erik's eyes flickered open as he realised where he was exactly. Curled up against the delicate ballerina's body, arms wrapped around her protectively, her cheek resting against his chest. Erik stretched his tired body out as best he could without disturbing Christine. His muscles ached from how tight he had kept himself during sleep.

Where had the vicious Phantom of the Opera gone? When had he been replaced by a push-over version of the once feared Phantom? Christine had changed him for the good, but this child and the loss of the child had transformed him into a pitiful excuse for the Opera Ghost.

Erik gently stroked her arm, brushing her tangled mess of curls away from her sleeping face. She was beautiful when she was asleep. She was beautiful when she was awake. She was beautiful in everything she did. How did he deserve such flawless beauty with the sins and crimes he had committed, not to mention the hideous monstrosity known as his face.

Was it her love that had transformed him? Was it her love that had changed him from killer to lover, from ghost to mortal, from monster to angel?

Gustave, the little baby he had hardly even got to know had changed his outlook on life. He had had hardly got to know the little boy, he had been too focused on Christine's health after the birth. But he still loved the little baby, wherever he was. It was an overwhelming, fatherly love that he never expected having in his life. He had never expected to be a father of anyone.

"Erik?" Christine asked, letting out a heavy exhale before burying her face against his chest.

"Go back to sleep my dear," Erik rumbled, his voice still thick with sleep. He shifted away from her, pressing a pillow beneath her cheek where his chest had been. "I'll only be gone for a little while. I just need to go out."

"Don't leave." Christine mumbled, curling back up tightly. Her body ached from all of the stress of childbirth and the pain of losing the child. She half wondered how she would ever walk again with the throbbing pain coming from between her tightly clamped legs. What had convinced her yesterday that she felt well enough to walk? Today she didn't even feel fit to sit in the bed, curled tightly up and desperately trying to ignore the pain she was experiencing.

"I'll be back soon." Erik said gently, reaching for his mask, where he had discarded it earlier the day before. He laced the ties behind his head, "I'll come back with a hearty lunch for us. How does that sound?"

Christine sighed, covering her face with her arm. "I'll be here when you come back."

"Sleep well." Erik replied, pulling his coat on and heading towards the door way. He needed to get away from her for just a few hours, time to clear his mind and concentrate on the difficulties ahead of them.

Outside of Notre Dame, above ground and with the warm sun shining down on his pale skin and the wind blowing against him he could finally breathe. There were no obligations, no need to try his damned best to be better. He could once again be the feared Opera Ghost. His hands itched to feel the Punjab gripped between his fists, he craved to see the look in a man's eyes as he ripped the final gasp of oxygen from their lungs. To see death instead of life.

Christine could believe he had become a better man, but there was no way for him to continue being that better man. Death and destruction was all he knew. He had been born into a life from a mother who tried to end his life before he was born and then continued to experience a life of pain, torture, and agony. Of course he would want to inflict such torment on another human being.

But no one worth killing roamed the streets in broad daylight. Not even down the alley ways that he lurked. No one dared to go out in the daylight when their crimes were committed in the cloaked night. That was the world Erik was used to, that was the world he craved to be part of again – but not when he had to be a "better, changed man".

He found that his wandering led him to the street near the abandoned house that the Giry's were staying in. What could it cost him to make a surprise visit to his old friends? Perhaps Meg had crawled back to her mother's house, the foolish little brat. Perhaps Giry was hiding Gustave there now. Perhaps, if God were truly kind, he could redeem himself to Christine and return to her their son.

Erik crept through the bedroom that he had used when he had stayed there, the bedroom where he was first with _his_ Christine. The room where so much of their relationship had changed and transformed into what it was today. Or what it was before he had failed her and became a simpering whelp of a man.

He made his way into the hallway, a reminder of the first real time that Viscount had taken _his_ Christine away. He didn't fight it, he instead fled – afraid of what he was. He still doubted that he was the right person for the beautiful ballerina and soprano. He knew she could do much better than him. She deserved beauty, happiness and lights - not the dark world she had been thrust into, living beneath Notre Dame in a crypt with a hideous murderer.

"Madame Giry?" Erik called, as he bounded down the stairs to the lower floor. "Antoinette where are you, you insufferable woman?"

"What is the meaning of this?" Antoinette snarled, appearing from the library. "You! What have you done with my daughter? Where is Meg?"

Erik laughed coldly, "And I came here to ask you that _very_ question."

"What does she have to do with you?"

Erik's eyes darkened, "The little Delilah of a daughter you had has stolen _my_ son."

"What?"

"Christine gave birth to a son. Meg came with me after my last meeting with you. But when I turned my back to tend to Christine Meg vanished. With _my_ son!" Erik roared, a primal howl ripped from his chest. "My son! My flesh and blood! I will not deny that innocent child a life with a loving mother and father. Where has she gone?"

"A life without _you_ is the life for a child." Antoinette scoffed, unaffected by Erik's pain. "Wherever Meg is, is the right place."

"You bitch." Erik hissed, lunging forward towards the older woman. His hand gripped her neck, "I'll kill you if you don't tell me where she is."

"I don't.." Antoinette gasped as he squeezed tighter, "I don't know."

"Liar!"

Antoinette grasped his arm, trying to pry his hand away from her throat. She kicked at his legs, supporting herself against the wall where he had pressed her. "I don't know where!"

Erik squeezed tighter, yearning to end the woman's life. The adrenaline and the power that rushed through his body flooded him with an overwhelming joy. He could see the look in her eyes that he had been longing to see. Life fleeing from a body. He was bringing an end to his life.

What would Christine think?

Erik released her neck, shoving her to the floor. "I will find my son! And when I find your daughter, she will _not_ be returning to you!" Erik stared at the coughing, wheezing woman before turning with a swirl of his jet black cape.


	47. Chapter 47

**A/N: This chapter is a little similar to my Les Mis/ Phantom crossover because I use a song in it. Apologies if you don't like this style for this story. It just fit, because I wanted to elaborate more on Meg.**

Meg stared at herself in the full length mirror. She pulled her fingers through her hair, trying her best to loosen out the tangles that were in it. Her dress was irrevocably crinkled from her rendezvous with Raoul. The thought of the two of them made her stomach turn. How could she have done all of this? Was it the way she had been raised?

Her mother had always loved Christine like her own daughter, sometimes more than she loved Meg. Christine was like the chosen one. She was perfect at dance, perfect looking, the perfect angel. When the Phantom began tutoring her, her mother had insured Meg that her day would come. But it had never come. It wasn't Meg's fault, of course, her mother had told her. The master was diligent with one student, he wouldn't rest until she was "perfect" in his eyes.

But then, there had been Raoul. A chance for Meg to, perhaps, win favour with the great maestro, if Christine disappointed him. It wouldn't have been hard. Christine had spoken of the Phantom's possessiveness towards her. If he had got jealous at all, which he had, he would have tossed Christine – or so Meg had hoped. Little did she know that the Phantom would have fought to the ends of the world for Christine. Little did she know that they were in love with one another.

Little did she know he pressing for Christine to rekindle with Raoul broke more hearts than she had ever been willing to break. Christine, the Phantom, her mother, herself, Raoul, and the servant girl Jane, not to mention two children that were yet to know what was going on.

Meg covered her face in shame, unable to look at herself in the mirror. Her own reflection was a disgrace. "Look at me. You may think you see who I really am. But you'll never know me. Every day, it's as if I play a part. Now I see, if I wear a mask I can fool the world. But I cannot fool my heart. Who is that girl I see. Staring straight back at me? When will my reflection show who I am inside?"

Sinking down on the bed of the guest room Raoul had let her clean herself up in, she curled into a ball. "I am now in a world where I have to hide my heart. And what I believe in. But somehow I will show the world what's inside my heart. And be loved for who I am. Who is that girl I see staring straight back at me? Why is my reflection someone I don't know? Must I pretend that I'm someone else for all time? When will my reflection show who I am inside?"

She had never been good enough for anything in her life. She was always second best. She was always the daughter of the ballet mistress, _that_ dancer who still couldn't be the best. She was _that_ girl who was the star's friend. She was _that_ pretty little thing that slept with the patrons to make a little stir for publicity. She was _that_ girl, but never _the_ girl.

How could she have done this? Little Megan Giry, the petite blond ballerina, the wallflower. She had wreaked havoc on everyone she knew's life. She had ruined lives.

There was a quiet knock on the bedroom door, before Raoul entered into the room. "Meg, we must go."

"What?" Meg sat up, wiping her hands across her red, tear stained, cheeks.

"We must go. You, Jane, and myself, along with _Allistair_." Raoul motioned for her to get out of the bed. "Come, it is not safe for us to stay. That monster will have our lives if he suspects that you brought the infant here."

"Where will we go?"

"My family has a summer home in Bath. It will be a journey, but we must take it if we are expected to live." Raoul grabbed her wrist, tugging her towards the door.

"What are we doing Raoul? Why are we doing this to her? To him ever?"

Raoul's lip curled into a snarl, "Do not second guess your actions. We are doing this because we have been pushed down long enough. It's time we show those two _lovers_ who we truly are."

"Who I truly am?" Meg snapped, jerking her hand from his grasp. "Who _I _truly am? You don't know who I am. You don't know me from any other whore you've mingled with."

"You are Margurite-

"Megan."

"Giry you are eighteen-"

"Twenty."

"That is beside the point."

"I don't even know who I am. How do you expect to know who I am? I have suddenly seen exactly who I think I've become. I've become a lying, cheating, jealous whore." Meg's shoulders sank, "I'm a worthless waste of flesh."

"Do you not think I don't feel the same way? I feel as though my feelings and my good nature have been turned against me. I trusted Christine to be _my_ faithful wife. I loved her. How did she repay me? She slept with a monster and had his bastard. I doubt the little wench was even a virgin when I rekindled our old flame."

"She was." Meg said softly, keep her face down. She was afraid if she looked up she would start crying again. She could feel that sob threatening to rise from her throat again. "She was perhaps the only virgin ballerina in our company. She was very virtuous."

"She sang for a demon."

"A very upright demon, if a demon he may be." Meg muttered, wringing her hands nervously. "Mother always said that _he_ was as innocent as an infant. His only crime, his only, was that he had murdered. He did not think he was worthy of anyone's affections. Mother said that Christine was the perfect student for him. She would never push him past his well defined limits."

"Then the kiss I stole from her on the rooftop was her first kiss?" Raoul asked sceptically. "How pray tell did she manage that feat when she's now a little devil's whore?"

"I do not know. When she was with us at the abandoned house she had spoke of kissing you and kissing him. She was a very different person now. No longer naïve. It was like her eyes had been opened to this new world of passion."

"Don Juan. That night changed it all."

"What?"

"I had seen it in her face that day before the ill fated performance. I thought her tears were because she was afraid that she and I would be parted. I comforted her thinking that thought. But, little did I know that behind her eyes she was screaming out. That was when this happened."

"What?" Meg was lost, she didn't know where he was going with it.

"Christine was realising that she was being condemned to betray that man she had come to trust as well as she trusted me. She was realising that I was making her an accessory to the Phantom's murder. I pushed her past her limits. I thought I was saving her."

"Oh." Meg's eyes widened as she realised what Raoul was saying. He was blaming himself for the change in their dear friend. "No, Raoul. It was me. I pushed her to be with her. It was my vain, jealous, thoughts that did this. I thought that if she had you, I could have him."

"Whoever's fault it was, is beside the point now. Meg, we must flee this country. Leave Paris and this society. We can make a new life."

"The three of us and the two babies?"

"Yes. Jane is due anytime now with our child. If timing works out we can claim that the two infants are twins. You can the nurse of the children."

"A lie."

"A plan."

Meg took Raoul's hand, condemning herself to this fate. "A plan."

**A/N: The song was the Christina Agulera version of "Relection".**


	48. Chapter 48

Erik examined his hand, squeezing and clenching it. He examined the way the muscles in his arm flexed, the feel of the tension in his knuckles. It was a sensation he had been without for nearly a year. Even if he hadn't followed through with the deed there was a sick satisfaction in how close he had come to it. But Madame Giry, despite her flaws and obsession, had been his oldest friend – and until recently his only true friend. He couldn't snap her neck or strangle her so he gave her a friendly warning. A reminder of what he was capable of.

Had he killed Antoinette, he wouldn't have been able to return to Christine. It would have been worse than returning without Gustave. He had sworn to be a better man, but being better be damned he wanted to feel that life squeezed from some worthless wench's body. Once you kill, you always long for your second, your third, your fourth - your thirteenth.

He had promised Christine he would return in a few hours, but in actuality he would return sometime tomorrow. There was no desire to care for her, or tend to her there was only this primal desire to seek out his next victim. If he couldn't kill Giry, if he couldn't find her daughter, and if he couldn't kill the fop then he would have to find someone easily forgotten that would do.

He would hide away from the light of day in some abandoned house or dark alleyway until nightfall. That's when he could walk the streets without fear of recognition. That was when the sons of whores and the whores themselves roamed the streets and a demon faced murderer could blend in without a single question asked.

That was when he would find a pretty Casey, thinking she was giving a few hours of pleasure and getting a few coins in return. Anyone's daughter, mother, or friend. A random stranger that had made the mistake of bumping into Erik. Didn't apologize, just offered her wares. Offered her life to his urge to kill, sacrificing a few more years of life without even knowing.

No matter how much he might love Christine, cherish and honour and strive towards a higher goal. He was stuck in the rut that his life had buried him in. He would always be the Phantom of the Opera. He had a human's name but he was far from any human. As much as she swore he was an angel, he was a devil. He killed without a second thought. Killing the brunette girl had been as easy as playing the organ. Taking life was as easy as making music.

He wasn't a callous murderer. He remembered every face he'd ever killed, where and how and more importantly why. He lived every second with the weight of that crime, digging into the cat-o-nine-tail scars that littered his body. They were the vinegar to the wounds that would never heal. They were the lives that would never live, while a monster from hell roamed the earth in their place. Their lives for a second of mind numbing, soul stirring, intoxicating bliss on his part.

The same hands that had held his own baby son, his own flesh and blood. The same hands that were now covered in the blood of some poor wench who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He didn't deserve a son. He didn't deserve a wife. He didn't deserve the happiness that kept being handed his way.

But he would still crawl back at the end of the night, as the light crept over the cityscape, to Notre Dame. A church of all places. A holy sanctuary that hid a murderer, a monster, a devil, a madman, a disfigured creature that didn't deserve the comfort he found there. Christine was no fool, she could see the pale, water washed, blood that was on the very edge of his white cuffs. She could see the turmoil in his eyes. There was a mad beauty on his face, the made beauty she had seen after he had killed Bouquet and after he had killed Pangii. She cupped his pitiful face in her hands, removed his mask and showered him with tiny kisses.

Like a burn she wished she could suck the pain out of his agony, like the old woman she used to know that had the gift to kiss the pain away. She wished that she could be enough for him. But she knew that no matter how hard she tried and how convinced that he was that she was enough – she would never be enough. The gypsies that had beaten, tormented, mocked, and maimed him as a child had taken part of his innocence and part of his soul from him. He was a broken man and there was no way to repair that.

Murdering someone was a sin that set uneasily on her conscious. But at the same time, as unholy as it seemed, she understood and accepted it as who he was. He was far from a perfect man, but it was his imperfections that she had grown to love. His unusual, animalistic, manners and his brooding temperament. She had learned his quirks and unusual attitudes as well as any person could ever expect to. He was a mystery that would never be solved.

Erik gripped her dress like his life depended it on it. He sobbed as she had never seen him, or any grown man, sob. His body was wracked in tremors and gasps of agony and pain. She doubted it was remorse over what he had done, but from his muttering apologies and clutching to her like an infant she realised he was afraid. That fear of rejection and self loathing bled through once again. He was afraid of losing her again.

Every time he had suspected that he would lose her because of actions, they were always caused by him. He had damned himself with the mentality he had adopted. He trusted no one, not even himself. His self loathing had convinced himself that he wasn't worthy of Christine's love no matter how much he desired it.

The gypsies had twisted his mind into believing that because he was born with such hideousness, he deserved only hideousness for the rest of his life. But Christine believed in redemption, despite his crimes and his sins he deserved happiness. Even if their child was gone, taken from their grasps and even if he had killed they deserved happiness. They deserved light and happiness. But all Erik found himself fit for was the darkness and hatred that he had been shown of the world.

Gustave could never be replaced, but if fate had decided that they needed to be without him, then she would have to accept that for now. She needed to tend to Erik, as best as she could. He needed to be mothered more than the infant needed. She could trust Meg, despite her kidnapping Gustave, to care for him. She had a good heart despite her misplaced judgement.

Erik needed her.

Through better or worse. Through happiness and strife. Through good times and bad times. She was going to stand by him as the wife she longed to be. He needed her.

**A/N: I'm going to be taking a short break from this story to work on my LND story, my Les Mis story, my other Phantom story, and possibly my Les Mis/Phantom crossover. I strongly recommend all of you reading my other works! Take a look at my page and don't forget to review!**


	49. Chapter 49

Christine cradled Erik's disfigured cheek against her bosom. His arm was wrapped around her waist, his hands clutching to her like his life depended on it. He had finally stopped weeping, relaxing into a trance like state, that was neither sleep nor conscious. She hoped that he wasn't scolding himself mentally, tormenting himself for whatever he had done. He had killed, she could tell that. But who? how? why? when? where?

The loss of Gustave had hit her hard, but she couldn't imagine the blame that Erik was experiencing. He had let Meg out of his sight for just a few seconds and she had taken Gustave. He had let his control slip for just a few seconds and someone was dead.

"Oh Christine," Erik groaned as a shutter wracked his body. "What have I done?

"Shh, you don't have to speak." Christine met his eyes as he leaned up to look at her. His face broke her heart. She had never seen him exhibit honest regret. But there was something different on his face, different from when Bouquet or Piangi met their fates at his hands. There was remorse. He was letting the sin consume him, he wasn't fighting the emotions away. He was letting the weight of his crime rest on his shoulders that were bowing with the weight. "Erik, please, I love you. I will never stop loving you, no matter what you do."

"I have murdered. How can you love a man who had murdered with these hands?" Out of spite Erik ran a hand along the side of body, letting his fingers brush against tender skin that made her shudder. "Can you ever let these blood stained hands bring you pleasure?"

"Erik." Christine whimpered softly as he set his mouth against the curve of her neck. "We can't."

"But," Erik crazed his teeth against the delicate skin he found there, relishing in the sensation of her trembling beneath his weight. "I want you."

"Find comfort in my arms if you want. But I cannot be the lover you want right now. " Christine pushed Erik's face away from her, only to have him bare his weight down heavier on her, his hands stroking along her sides. "Please Erik, stop this."

Erik clamped his eyes shut, rolling away from her and slamming his fists against the mattress. The anger, the regret, the hatred, and the desire coursed through his veins, flooding him with the burning, agonizing, fire that threatened to consume him. He was the reason Christine had been pregnant, gave birth, nearly died, lost their son, and now suffered a pain that was different from childbirth. Christine could pretend that she was unaffected, but he could see the pain in her eyes.

The one person he swore he would never intentionally hurt, he had hurt the most. Not by physical injury, but by emotional injury. She was the force that tried to make him good and in the end she only made him lose control and become a monster.

~o~

Only four days after arriving in Bath, Isobel was born to Jane. The despite that neither baby looked related, Gustave "Allistair" with his jet black hair and blue eyes and Isobel with her tawny brown hair and hazel eyes, Jane claimed that both were twins. Just as Raoul had insisted that she did. Raoul de Chagny entered into the Bath society for the first time in many years, a "husband" and father with Jane. Despite the mirage that the two put forth in society, it was Meg that he found his time and comfort with. It was Meg who had helped him finally win in his efforts against the Phantom. Perhaps he hadn't won Christine, but he had one that bastard child they'd brought into the world. That was satisfaction enough.

Meg knocked on the nursery door before letting herself in. Jane had become very bitter and angry towards her, she was interested in barging in on her when she was feeding Allistair or Isobel and face the wrath of a scorned servant girl. She was after all "the maid" to Monsieur and Madame de Chagny.

The maid that had spent five of the five evenings in Raoul's bedroom, living much like the lady and not the help. She wasn't sure if she had any really attachment to Raoul, other than a gentle spirit to find solace in. He was one of the better lovers she had had, he wasn't an old leach of a patron just wanting a _quick_ jolly with a willing young ballerina. Raoul was diligent in his passions. How had Christine ever turned him down? What did that masked man have that Raoul did not have?

"Hello little one," Meg whispered to Gustave who was lying in his bassinet with wide, curious eyes. Isobel was soundly sleeping in the bassinet beside him, making little baby sounds in her sleep. "Aren't we a little old man already?" Meg chuckled at the pensive look on the little boy's face. "Just like your mother."

"Christine was always a pensive woman. Always with her mind in the clouds." Raoul startled Meg, making her jerk around and hold Gustave close to her body.

"Goodness Raoul, you frightened me!"

"My apologies," Raoul dipped a little bow, watching her playing with Gustave. "He's a handsome baby, isn't he?"

"Yes." Meg rocked the baby in her arms. "He has intelligent eyes."

"Like his _father_?"

"I suppose. I never really knew him." Meg turned away, glancing at Isobel. "She's starting to fuss." The baby's face was red and puffed out in a silent cry, before it turned into a shrill squeal.

"My own flesh and blood. I don't even want her. She's a mistake."

"Mistakes can bring you joy."

"How would you know?" Raoul snapped, lifting the fussing baby into his arms reluctantly. He was useless in soothing the cries, but he continued to try.

"Well," Meg started, watching Raoul. "My mother always said I was a blessing to her."

"You were like Isobel?"

"Mother was never married. My father was a stagehand who came from southern France for work in the only craft he knew. He romanced my mother, a ballerina, for months before promising her a life of love, marriage, a family. Then, no sooner than that show was finished he had to suddenly leave the company. Mother was as curious as she is today, she followed him back to his home. Where she saw his wife welcoming him with open arms, and three young children. Needless to say, I was a mistake. Her stomach began to swell with me a mere month after her discovery. Jules Renaire was never seen again."

"I-"

"It's nothing." Meg shook her head. "If I were to become-"

"I would support you."

"Thank you." Meg muttered, giving Raoul an appreciative smile. He surprised her when she leaned down to press a kiss to her lips, careful to not hurt Isobel or Gustave.

"Why was it not you whose scarf I rescued from the _roaring_, trickling, river, stream?"

"Fate, I suppose."

**A/N: Hello dears! I'm back on this story. Read my darker one as well. Also, review as much as you like! I LOVE reviews! If anyone would like to see my AWESOME cosplay on deviantart or to follow me on Twitter just PM or review me. :) Tallyho!**


	50. Chapter 50

Christine wanted to clean; she wanted to find something to do to occupy her free time. But there was nothing to tidy up that she hadn't already tidied up. The crypt that they called home was nothing but cold, smooth stone floors with a simple bed, a sofa and an armchair, a harpsichord, and a stack of sheet music. There was nothing to clean up and nothing to organize.

Erik watched her from the armchair, where he sat in what appeared to be deep thought. His elbow rested on the arm, his chin resting on his fist. She didn't seem comfortable wherever she was. She moved from the bed, to the sofa, to the seat in front of the harpsichord.

After over a week, Erik had finally let her rise from the bed on her own. He realised that she wouldn't stay in bed if he left the crypt, and he would rather have her up when he was there than sneaking when he was gone.

But she was irritating him with her constant movement. "For God's damn sake sit down Christine!" Erik shouted suddenly, his voice shattering the silence of the room.

"I-" Christine swallowed hard, sinking into the sofa that was just beside his chair. "I'm sorry."

"You are pushing me past the fine line of insanity." Erik hissed, eyeing her angrily.

Christine bit her lip, wringing her hands together as she sat awkwardly on the sofa. She glanced across at Erik, "I'm sorry."

"Would you _please_ stop fidgeting? Just stop moving, just sit there and be still." Erik gritted, his mismatched eyes never flickering towards her.

"I'm just antsy."

"Would you be quiet as well?" Erik snarled, his hands balling into fists. "Just sit still and be quiet."

Christine opened her mouth to say something else, realising it was not wise to disobey him. She couldn't understand why he had become so cold and shut off in the last week. She knew that the weight of everything that had happened had reversed so much that they had worked through. He wasn't the shy, protective and adoring lover that she had been with. He had changed back into the cold, possessive, and hostile Opera Ghost.

"I'm going out." Erik rose suddenly, striding towards the doorway without a second glance back.

"Wait!" Christine followed after him quickly, grabbing the back of his waistcoat. "Please, don't leave me."

"Sit _down_ and be _quiet._" Erik grimaced, pushing her hands off of him. "I have things I need to do."

"We can never replace him Erik. Nothing will ever replace Gustave." Christine felt hot tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Christine-"

"No!" Christine balled her hands into his coat, holding on for dear life. "Nothing you can do can replace him. Being angry won't do anything. As long as we're together that's all we need. You can't push me away."

Erik grabbed a fistful of her hair, pulling her head back forcefully. "I told you to be quiet!"

"Erik!" Christine cried out, leaning back to alleviate the pain the streaked through her scalp from his hold. "Let me go."

"You say that as long as we're together that's all we need. But I _need_ you and you keep pushing me away. You haven't let me posses you like I need to."

"Today was the first day that I haven't hurt." Christine reached towards him and pressed her hand against his cheek. "I wish I could give you what you need."

"I'm a starved man Christine. Once I have possessed something I _need_ it. I obsess over it until it is always at my disposal. You are like my music." Erik loosened his grip on her hair, pressing his lips along her jawbone. "You know that I am obsessive with my music, I use it over and over and _over _again to satisfy my hunger for its delicious melodies."

"Please stop this Erik." Christine pushed away from him.

"Again you push me away!" Erik hissed, grabbing her arm and jerking her back. "Do you not listen to me? I say that you pushing me away is pushing me past the brink of insanity and in a breath you tell me to stop."

"I just don't feel well Erik. I'm tired and anxious and sad." Christine leaned towards him and pressed her lips against his lips. "Please, just understand."

"I try to understand, but I just can't." Erik rasped as he moved his lips against hers. "I don't know how to control my desires." Erik turned away from her, moving across the crypt and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

"I'm not saying no forever, just not right now. Not so soon after I gave birth to Gustave. I'm still awfully tired and weak." Christine followed him, sitting down beside him on the bed. "I love you."

Erik took a deep breath, "I love you too."

~o~

Jane walked into the nursery, stopping in her tracks when she saw Raoul and Meg holding the two babies in their arms. "What are _you_ doing in here?" She snapped as she met Meg's eyes.

"I came to visit Allistair." Meg looked down at the wide-eyed baby.

"I can take him," Jane took the baby boy from her arms, rocking him gently as he started to fuss. "Shh."

"Meg is allowed to hold him if she would like to," Raoul corrected Jane, motioning for her to give Meg the baby.

"_He's_ my child." Jane ignored Raoul, trying to calm the fussing baby.

"He is none of our sons." Raoul insisted, laying Isobel down into her bassinet. "Give me Allistair."

"He's my son for all intensive purposes." Jane, jerked away wanting to keep Gustave in her arms. "He's such a handsome little boy, isn't he? Black hair and blue eyes. What did his father look like?"

"Like a monster." Raoul snapped, touching Meg's shoulder gently. "He didn't deserve a son. He didn't deserve my wife."

"It's alright Raoul." Meg stroked his arm gently. "You have the upper hand now. You have his son."

**A/N: Yay or nay? This chapter was really angsty to write. **


	51. Chapter 51

"I am sorry Christine," Erik muttered, taking her hand in his hand. "I have failed you."

"No you haven't. You are only human. Humans make mistakes." Christine brought his scarred hand up to her lips, kissing it gently. "I love you Erik and I always will."

"Oh Christine." He pulled her close, engulfing her in an embrace and burying his face into her soft curls. "To hear those words."

"I hope you do not still think that they are not true." Christine gave a soft, childish laugh, "We've been together for nearly a year now. I would hope that you believed them."

"I do." Erik looked up at her, leaning into kiss her lips gently. "I cherish this time I have got to be with you. There was a time when this felt like a distant unattainable dream." He smoothed his hand over her hair, thinking of how he had pulled it. "Christine, I am-"

"Don't." Christine placed an elegant finger against his lips. "We all make mistakes."

"I make so many." He looked away, feeling the weight of his guilt set in again. "Christine these hands can only do unfathomable sin."

"Yet these hands make such beautiful music and they make me happy. You see they cannot do _all_ wrong."

"I do not deserve you." Erik gave a forced smile, taking a deep breath. "You are patient and kind, two things that I do not deserve."

"You deserve this." Christine gestured between the two of them, taking his hands again. "Our relationship is built upon more than primal lust." She kissed his knuckles, never taking her eyes off of his face.

"But when I see you, I crave that overpowering bliss that I get from being with you. I once feared it, that first night we spent together. The happiness was overwhelming and I couldn't stand to stay near you and bask in the afterglow. But now I crave it so much that it calls me to harm you if I don't receive the bliss. I am the seven deadly sins."

"Erik-"

"I lust to have you withering against my body, I am a glutton for your body, I am greedy for what you have so gracefully offered to me in the past. Oh Christine." Erik's face crumpled in pain, "I despair when you turn me away and I elicit wrath towards you when would not give me your body. I was envious when Raoul stole you from me; my pride for you was overwhelming. I nearly left you because he was upon you and you did not seem to fight him."

"Erik-"

"No Christine. You must see that I am not some angel of music, I am the epitome of the Seven Deadly Sins. Why is that you want this body to be one with yours? Say that you have only been with me out of pity for me," Erik shook her hands almost violently. "_Say it_!" Christine shook her head, biting her lip in fear. "Say that you have slept with, given me your maidenhood out of sheer pity for this hideous disturbed monster. I will not care if have. I will understand. I promise you, Christine. I know that my weakened personality has drawn you in, your pity was mistook by you as love. You could not love a man like me. Why would anyone? I am a pitiful excuse for humanity. A waste of what flesh is not marred on my form. I cannot keep myself sane for you. The more I think you do love me the more I feel any grasp on sanity slipping away."

"I love you Erik." Christine muttered, shaking her head slowly. "I cannot lie and say that I don't." She wrapped her arms around him, only to have him shove her away.

"No! Christine, don't you understand what your _love_ does to me?"

Christine hesitated only slightly before wrapping her arms around him again, pulling him towards her with what little force she could exert. "Erik, please calm down. You are talking madness. If this is your way to push me away you aren't. My love for you is bigger than anything you can do. I love you."

Erik ceased fighting her embrace, letting himself melt against her hold. Her arms wrapped around him satisfied his need to be close to her. Perhaps not as near as his body commanded him to be, but close enough to satisfy his needs for flesh against flesh. "Christine, Christine, _Christine_." He whispered against her skin, clutching to her possessively. "Forgive me for hurting you."

"I forgave you as soon as it happened." She pressed her lips against the curve of his neck. "I do not condemn you for your actions. I care for you." She brushed her fingers through his hair, massaging her fingers against his scalp.

"Christine, you are the mother that I never have had." Erik mumbled against her skin, a low audible moan escaping his lips as he gave in to her gently ouch.

"I hope you feel something different than a mother and son relationship." Christine chuckled, sliding her hand up and down his back.

"You are my mother, my friend, my student, my angel, my lover, and the mother to our own son." Erik felt tears falling from his eyes, his words choking in his throat. "Forgive me."

"I trusted Meg as well, Erik. It is not your fault. Neither of us can be at blame. It has happened for a reason that perhaps we do not understand. Everything happens for a reason."

"Your beliefs are a breath of fresh air." Erik replied, sliding his lips against the curve of her neck, letting his teeth teasing scrape against her skin.

"I love you Erik." Christine pulled away, nervous that his ministrations would lead to him wanting to do more with her. "We need to distract ourselves from everything. Play for me a song."

"Christine," Erik hissed, irritated that she was leaving the embrace. But he couldn't deny, if they had stayed as so he would have pressed for something more comforting. He knew that he shouldn't want to always posses her, but he couldn't control the primal urges he had been for so long deprived. "I shall play for you a new song." He rose and moved towards the harpsichord. Music had always been his best distracter when he had lived alone and even more so when Christine came for lessons. Now, once again, it would prove useful to rid him of the overpowering desires that were like a Pandora's Box for him.

**A/N: Finally updated! I couldn't help but use the 7 Deadly Sins. I can see Erik being nothing but a tool for those sins, never understanding how to control his urges. Can't you see Erik being so lost in the feel and emotion and desire of wanting to make love to Christine, I mean he is at least in his 30s and has never experienced the touch or the kiss of a woman. It would be incredibly overpowering for him. He has had no years to control his masculine urges, so he is much like a pubescent teen currently. (: A funny thought indeed! Yay for pent up sexual tension! lol**


	52. Chapter 52

Jane quietly slipped into the nursery, she expected both babies to be peacefully asleep and she didn't want to awake either of them. Instead, she found Allistair wide awake, his blue eyes searching the ceiling above him with an inquisitive look that was far beyond his age. Isobel slept peacefully in her bassinet, like a baby but the little raven haired boy continued to amaze her. He had the eyes of an adult, trapped in the body of a baby.

"Who's baby are you little one? You can't be either of _theirs_ child. You look like none of us and are like none of us." Jane lifted the baby into her arms, gently cradling him. "Look at those handsome eyes."

"We will have to move from Bath, to keep distance from anyone finding us." Raoul's voice slipped through the door, striking panic through Jane. She sat Allistair back into the bassinet, quickly moving to conceal herself beneath the daybed near the window.

"But, Raoul, we have created a home here for the children. We've made alliances." Meg urged, looping her arm with Raoul's. She looked around the room cautiously, finding it empty save for the two infants. "What will Jane say? She will become more suspicious."

"She knows her place." Raoul gritted, his eyes narrowing at Meg. "We don't need her. If she becomes too troublesome, we'll leave her behind."

Jane listened carefully.

"I will not allow anything to come in the way with stealing their child, Meg. You must understand this."

"You will risk your own name and honour because of Christine Daae and her Phantom?"

_Christine Daae_. Jane covered her mouth to keep from making a sound. She had heard that name at the Opera Populaire, she was the beauty and the new diva of the grand Opera House. She had been the fiancé of her master and the reason that so much had happened to her. That was the mother of Allistair?

"Christine ruined my honour by denying my hand. She cast a shadow of doubt upon my impotence and ability. She brought a slight upon my name by denying me. A Vicomte denied by a commoner. She is nothing but the daughter of some famous _Danish_ violinist. She's spent her life associated with the harlots of the Opera House."

"No offence to me of course." Meg snapped, pulling away from Raoul's hold. "You are going to waste your life in the spite of yourself."

"Meg, if I were you I'd hold my tongue."

"I'm well aware that I should hold my tongue, and yet at the same time I have no desire to. You are a foolish man at times. A handsome yet foolish man."

Raoul grabbed Meg's hand, pulling her towards him and pressing his mouth against hers.

"What are you doing?"

"I have heard it said that to silence a woman is to give her attention."

"Don't you dare. Not today. Not until you decide what you truly desire. Do you want to be with me in this new cosy life that we've acquired, living with the child of your enemy and almost bride. Or perhaps do you want to return to Christine and beg her acceptance. This is what you're doing, Raoul. You could not have her attention without making some grand scene."

"You bitch." Raoul slapped his hand across her cheek, jerking her by her blond hair. "I keep you here out of some semblance of kindness. Don't even try to have the upper hand against me."

"Let go of me." Meg growled, digging her finger nails into his hand. "You used to be a handsome man whose attractiveness was seen before you made an appearance. Now, the stench of alcohol and brothels precedes you entering a room. You've let the love you hold for Christine ruin you."

"You know nothing of what I feel for her!" Raoul shouted, releasing his hold of Meg. "I want her to suffer the way she makes me suffer. I loved her. I loved her as a child, but my father despised her. She was no more than a rat to him. He thought the young girl merely hung around me to get money. But she hung around me because we were friends. I cared for her as a child and I care for her now. She has broken my heart and yet I still care for her. Meg! Don't you understand? I love her and I always have."

"You have to realise that she will never return that love. I know it must hurt."

"You know _nothing_." Raoul snarled, brushing past the blond haired ballerina. "I'm going to my study, I do not wish to be bothered. But, I swear, if I call upon you. You. Will. Come."

"Yes monsieur." Meg replied, bowing her head nervously. She worried about what he could do in his drunken states. She didn't dare disobey him. She'd learned what her place was to him.

"For God's sake leave the children alone as well." Raoul snapped as he slammed the door shut as he left.

Meg flinched, expecting the babies to start screaming from the sound. Instead she heard Isobel let out a little cry, no different from being startled awake and quickly falling back to sleep. Gustave, made no sound.

"Little Gustave, I should have left you with your mother and your father. You didn't deserve this living hell that I've subjected you to. A life in the depths of a quiet church are for more fitting for such a pensive child." Meg glanced down at the little boy, shaking her head solemnly. "I'm so sorry." With one last look, Meg left the infants alone in their nursery.

Jane crawled out from beneath the daybed. Her head whirled with the information she had learned from just a few minutes of listening. She could hardly believe the truth of the baby, Allistair – no Gustave. The little baby was not an orphan, he was the beloved child of two people who were desperately wanting their son. Who was she to stand in the way of the baby's safe return?

**A/N: I reposted this story because no one seemed to get the update. So here it is. Again for some. But, PLEASE Review! :) It makes me want to write more if you do. Things are starting to get hectic in life. Work, Graduation, Plays, Travel.**


	53. Chapter 53

Raoul had locked himself away in his study, much like he did every day. He had once shown a chance of stepping back into the light, but now it seemed that he was becoming more and more reclusive. He sulked and shouted, he drank his weight in whiskey and refused to leave his room. The Viscount de Chagny was a shell of his former self.

Meg skittered around the home, cleaning and organizing to the point that she was only reorganizing her organization. Morning until evening she spent her time trying to occupy her time with something other than attempting to comfort Raoul and soothe his hysteria. His violent streaks terrified her and her left with no out but to give him the romantic attention he was desperate for. There had been a moment when this all began, where she first truly cared for him. But that day had passed and he became an obligation. He was quickly driving her to the brink of insanity and she was forced to let it happen.

Jane cradled the babies against her bosom, making sure that both were well covered in their blankets and quietly sucking on their pacifiers. She glanced at her appearance in the mirror, finding her reflection cloaked in a cape and hood, with two babies tucked into her arms. If she said that she was the mother of the babies it wouldn't be a lie. She was Isabelle's mother and had mothered Ali- no Gustave, more than anyone else had.

Tonight she would make the midnight excursion out of Bath. Down the cobblestone alleyways, past the beautiful townhouses that she had started to love. With the Baths and the Pump room distant memories she made it down past the waterway and to the train station. If anyone asked her why she was making a flight from Bath in the dead of night she would claim that her mother in Paris had grown ill and a footman had just brought her a message. With her husband away she had to make the journey alone. Perhaps they were short staffed at their home and that explained why she was alone.

But as she arrived to the train station where the coaches awaited for passengers, she found Meg standing in the pale moonlight. "Planning to leave where we?"

"I-"

Meg pushed her fingers through her hair, her eyes wide. "I want to leave with you."

"What of Raoul?"

Meg motioned for a carriage, taking a moment to pull up the sleeve of her black coat. Her skin there was purple and bruised. "Raoul is not only a danger to himself, but a danger to me. To you. To the babies." The blonde girl trembled, she was coming unhinged more every day and she needed to be free from Raoul.

"How did you know I was coming here?"

"I didn't." Meg met Jane's eyes, the fear in the ballerina's eyes clearly said why she was there. "How did you know where to go?"

"I overheard you and Raoul." Jane carefully climbed into the carriage behind Meg.

"To Dover." Meg said to the driver, moving to sit across from Jane. "I hoped that you would overhear some conversation. It wasn't safe for me to tell you where Allistair is from."

"You mean Gustave?"

Meg nodded, "I don't know why I did this to Christine. She was my best friend. My sister." Her eyes drifted to the window, staring out into the dark forests on the road out of Bath. She had never seen England before now. But she wished she never had. The English retreat that she read about in books by Jane Austen were not what she had envisioned. Perhaps if she hadn't had to return home to a deranged, drunkard it would have been nicer.

"The father…" Jane didn't know how to go about her question. "Gustave's father is the masked man, correct? The man whose name was whispered around Paris?"

"Yes. That Phantom of the Opera."

"What's behind it?"

Twirling a piece of hair between her fingers, "You don't want to know. Once you see it…" Meg shook her head. "It's terrifying."

"And Raoul?"

"Was Christine's fiancée."

"I knew that." Jane looked down at Isabella in her arms. "I know what happened there. I learned about that the hard way."

Meg looked down, "I do not believe that you will be the last to mother Raoul's child." She inhaled heavily, letting her hand rest on her stomach. "Raoul used to be such a handsome and beautiful boy. He's young still, but he lacks that vibrancy and youth that only a few months ago characterized him. The liquor is aging him before our eyes. Turning him rotten inside."

"You don't think that you are-"

"It very well may be the truth." Meg's thumb stroked her stomach as she stared out the window. "To think that the Phantom is hideous outwardly, yet bright and beautiful inside. Look at Raoul, he's beautiful and yet like a rotten apple."

"I'm sorry." Jane reached towards Meg and placed her hand softly on her knee. Meg flinched away from her touch. "We can set this all right."

"Christine will never forgive me."

~o~

Though they had worked through Erik's difficulties with accepting his new found passions and sensuality and controlling his overwhelming desires – he still found that keeping his distance was necessary. With Christine getting healthier and stronger with each day, they moved in their own separate orbits. Their own circles seemed to rarely intersect. They were living in the same home, dining together, and practising music but they didn't truly live together. A child did not necessarily make a home. But losing a child like this had destroyed their home.

Erik had reluctantly allowed Christine to return to the Opera House for ballet lessons. He hated to see Christine reduced to a broken, childless, woman sitting quietly in the dark depths of a church's underbelly. That was not the athletic and talented ballerina he had first fallen in love with. That was the creation he had forced her into. He had clipped her wings and now he was desperately trying to undo what he had done. Trying to teach her how to fly again.

He composed while she was away, diligently seeking refuge in the melodies he created to soothe his aching heart. His heart was a part of him that until Christine filled his life with love, he had not known what the purpose of the organ was. She had taught him so many things while they had lived within that rundown house. She'd opened him up to a world of intoxicating passion that consumed him just as he had written that it would.

But now he had reduced himself to a few gentle words with her, a soft pass of his hand across her shoulders, and a fleeting kiss. He knew that everything would have been different had they been allowed to keep and raise their child. He wouldn't feel so compelled to fill the void that he saw _his_ Christine wander around with. She was half of the person she was before.

It was his fault that she was like this now.

Some nights when she would return home from the Opera House he saw that giddy girl glimmering at the surface. She would chat about little things that the other ballerinas had said to her that day. Giggling about nonsensical things. She was vibrant and young again in his eyes. But then the next day she would return in a gloom. Someone had made some comment about them. Some lewd, incorrect comment, about her life with "the Phantom".

Christine would return and through herself into his arms, tears staining her face. It had taken every ounce of power she possessed to wait until then to break down. He would brush his fingers through her entangled mass of curls and try his best to soothe away the pain he saw in _his_ Christine. It was moments like this that he felt like a stranger to her. Her eyes would be so empty. How he wished he could bring the light back to her.

"Christine, my Christine." Erik whispered into her ear. He ghosted his hand up and down her arm. She had curled herself onto his lap, resting her cheek against his shoulder.

"Yes?" She asked softly, taking his hand in hers.

"Where has my strong and willful Christine gone?"

He heard Christine sniff slightly, "She has gone away."

"What is her address? I wish to send a note to her and beg her to return." Erik replied lightly, kissing her brow gently. "I miss the Christine who would push me past every wall I built. I miss the Christine who soared so high above me, but grace me with her presence. I miss her."

"She misses you too." Christine sat up on his lap, turning slightly to look him in the face. "I wish we could go back to the time at the abandoned house. That was exciting."

Erik hesitantly leaned up to kiss her, afraid that he might over step some sort of boundary line. But instead he found Christine kissing him back. He cupped the back of her head, pulling her closer.

"I thought you didn't want me anymore." Christine muttered, pulling back slightly. "I thought you thought I was too much trouble."

"Never." Erik groaned, pulling her back in to kiss her. He could never tire of Christine. Even when she was distant she was enough. Just to know that she was his. He had been too afraid to hurt her after she had had Gustave. He didn't understand women and childbirth first hand, only from medical books that were so sterile and stuffy that what they said didn't seem applicable to real life.

"Perhaps Christine will come back." Christine responded, pulling away his mask from his cheek. She hated that he wore it more and more again. She'd rather see his cheek bare before her eyes than the stark white mask.

**A/N: I'm back with TD. It's been hard to start again. I've been stuck on "Not For Me" My Mis story. However, my description of Bath comes from my experience this summer! I'm not sure if the train station was there then, but obviously the Pump Room and the river/canal was. Anyways, Jane's "flight" from Bath was accurate ish. **

**Yes? No? Terrible? Good?**

**Glad to be back somewhat on this story.**


	54. Chapter 54

Erik savoured the sensation of being able to, once again, lay beside the goddess which was Christine. Though his goddess had fallen from her pedestal she was still _his_ beautiful Christine. Time would eventually heal and she would return to her former glory. But for now he was satisfied with what he had. Like she had once said to him, another child wouldn't fill the void where Gustave had been but it would help. Just as their passion would once again return and they could lead a life similar to the one before.

"Do you remember the vows you spoke to me?" Christine asked softly, pressing her cheek against his arm.

"Of course." Erik gave her a downwards glance, noticing that her eyes were closed. "Why?"

"I was curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat, mon ange."

"I am not a feline, otherwise I would have landed on my feet." Christine's feet stirred beside his. "I only asked because I want us to always remember that night."

Erik took her hand in his, interlacing their fingers and holding it up for her to see. "Two strands of music at last entwined."

"Once upon another time." Christine sighed heavily, "Have I been insufferable to live with?"

"No!" Erik snorted, the air whistling out of his disfigured nostril. "The true question is whether or not _I_ was the monster to live with. I can only picture that an outward observer would see me as a brutish ogre stealing away the innocence and virtue of a petite flower."

"When in truth the flower stole the ogre?" Christine's soft giggles filled the room.

Erik couldn't help but smile at her. She was once again the Christine that he knew and loved so well. The air around her seemed to dissipate and her vibrancy had returned. "I am glad to see you happy again." He wondered at times if the complexity of their relationship ever troubled her. Not even the most brilliant psychoanalyst would be able to understand them. And he claimed to be a student of humanity, well trained in the behaviors and motives of humans. Purely from observation, of course, but he had learned so much!

Yet Christine and he were an enigma. They had no beginning and no end just as their bodies, lying entwined there, had no obvious beginning and end.

"Thank you for making me happy again." Christine returned, looking up at him with wide doe-eyes. In the dying candles she could see his face tinted with an orange hue with the help of the fading flames on dripping wax candles.

Somewhere in the church a door could be heard slamming shut. Erik sat up erect in the bed and looked around. "Dress." He hissed in a quiet, urgent, voice. He wasted no time to pull on his trousers, clean white shirt, cravat, and return his mask to its proper place. Whoever it was, would _pay_. And in blood if necessary.

Christine pulled on her chemise, donning a housecoat to protect her partially dressed form from the eyes of the visitor. "Who is it?"

"Shh." Erik pressed a long finger to his lips, standing guard around the corner from the front door. They both stood dead still, waiting for the door to swing up. Erik peered around the corner, there was a cloaked figure standing in the door. "Who is there?"

The figure took down the hood of the cloak, revealing a young woman. And an infant.

"Gustave!" Christine shouted, rushing past Erik and towards the woman. "My baby." She didn't hesitate from snatching the baby out of the stranger's arms. "Oh Gustave!" Christine hugged the child to her bosom, stepping away from the woman in fear. "Who are you?"

"Jane." She replied, watching the mother with the child. "Meg sends a message."

"That damn woman!" Erik hissed, stepping towards Jane. "And what does she have the audacity to say?"

"She sends her apologies." Jane looked down at her hands. "Christine, you don't know what Raoul has been like to us."

"And I don't care." Christine snapped, turning to Erik. She gave him a soft smile as he wrapped a protective arm around her waist.

Jane stared at Christine and the masked man. Did the woman comprehend what had happened to her because of breaking off her engagement with Raoul? Did she even care to know? "Meg didn't mean to take Gustave. She swears it."

"I'd like to hear that from her own mouth."

"She's afraid to come here. Afraid of what he," Her eyes flickered towards the "Phantom". "might do to her." Jane shook her head, "We both risked everything to bring Gustave back to you. When Raoul finds out where we are…"

"Why does Raoul care so much for either of you?"

"I gave birth to his bastard daughter and Meg… she might be giving birth to yet another bastard de Chagny." Jane stepped back towards the door. "But I really should go. I don't want to be seen leaving from here. Dawn will be upon the city soon."

Christine watched Jane go, "How I have missed you little one." She whispered, pressing kisses to the crown of the baby's head. "Our prayers have been answered."

Erik hesitantly stepped closer to Christine, placing a gentle hand on Gustave's back. "Our son." Raising a child had been distant from his mind, an old forgotten thought. He didn't know how to raise a child. He had hardly been able to care for Christine. He was appreciative that Gustave had been miraculously returned, but at the same time hesitant. Was he capable of raising a child?

He had had nine months to prepare for their son before. And in nine months he had not been able to come to terms that he was going to have to raise a little baby. When he had been taken, it had been a morbid sigh of relief. He had escaped that trial. And with their new tense relationship the thought of a second child was a distant thought.

"Gustave." He whispered, wrapping his arms around Christine's body. How was he going to provide for Christine and Gustave? Living in the dark crypt of a church was no place for a little child and his mother, two people who were full of life and _light_.

**A/N: *cringes* Was that terribly OOC:?**

**As for a lovely anonymous reviewer Marina Bluethrone *note the sarcasm* My dear Erik has a Punjab lasso with your name on it. I would like to point out that your own review was riddled with incorrect punctuation and grammar. **

**Bite me.**

**P.S. I'm thinking of changing my username. Any recommendations ya'll? I'm thinking a Miz/Phantom name. **


	55. Chapter 55

It had been weeks since Erik had seen life in Christine's eyes. He knew that it had been because of their son's disappearance, but it still came as a shock to see her lifeless. But now, here she sat with their son, alive and bright eyed like her former self. Would she notice how distant he felt as he watched from the sidelines? He wasn't sure how to act as a father with Gustave.

How could hands that had murdered possibly bring comfort to a baby? How could a man such as himself be a father to a child that he wished to walk in the light?

Christine looked up at him, her bright eyes meeting his, "Why are you over there?"

"I'm just letting you have your time with him." Erik replied, his hands grasping the edges of his waist coat.

"We have _years_ of time with him Erik! Come here and welcome your son back." Christine gave him a teasing smile, "You aren't afraid of a little baby are you? I saw less fear in your eyes when a mob was descending on the lair."

"I don't know how to be a father." Erik confessed, taking hesitant steps towards Christine and Gustave. He should feel thankful that their son had been returned to them in such a miraculous way, yet he wasn't. Thankful for Christine's sake, but not for his own.

"You've been a wonderful husband, why would you be less than a father?"

Erik snorted in laughter, his nostril making a strange whistling sound. "I can hardly believe that I have been a wonderful husband. Possessive, vengeful, vain, loathsome-"

"Loving, wonderful, gracious, caring. Erik, you are far too hard on yourself. You should believe better in yourself."

"But I know what is in here," Erik motioned towards his head, "I know what sins I have committed and I find that this world must bring me a sort of purgatory for them. I cannot believe that _God_ would be good enough to let me have both a beautiful, young, and vibrant wife and a healthy little boy without some sort of pain and misery." Erik sat at the edge of the sofa where Christine sat with Gustave, he kept his distance between them. "I am afraid that these hands will bring harm to Gustave like they have brought harm to you."

"And yet, I see no harm done to me. Come here you ridiculous man." Christine narrowed her eyes as her voice turned threatening, "I will _not_ have you acting like this. You must not self-persecute yourself. Erik, if I believe that you will be a great father, then you will be a great father."

Erik sighed, looking at Christine with disbelief. When had his innocent Christine become a demanding woman? She had always had control over him, but now she spoke with such eloquent assertion that it made him love her even more.

"Are you going to cease this now?" Christine asked, motioning for him to move closer to them.

Erik laughed, "I suppose so." He scooted along the sofa, settling beside Christine. He gently wrapped his arm around her waist and looked down at Gustave. He was a beautiful little boy. He looked more like Christine than himself. No beautiful little baby could look like him.

"You should remove your mask."

"And scare Gustave?"

"He is an infant. He will not care. If you raise him to accept your disfigurement, instead of hiding it from him-"

"Christine, you push me too hard."

"You need it."

Erik sighed, reaching behind his head to loosen the knot at the back of his head. The stark white mask was removed, along with the jet black wig he wore to hide the pale blonde hair beneath. Christine offered Gustave to him and he hesitated. "You are going to send me to an early grave."

"He is _your_ son as well." Christine reminded him with a mischievous smile. She felt so alive with her family complete once again. "He needs his father."

Erik took a deep breath and took Gustave into his arms. The baby chuckled and cooed in his hold, scrunching his face and wiggling like any baby would in his father's arms. Erik felt the tightness in his muscles lessen as he rocked Gustave back and forth in his arms, showering the baby with kisses and whispering sweet songs to him.

Christine smiled as she watched Erik come to life with infant in his arms. Though Gustave was not the little baby she had last seen, he was still their tiny little baby in her mind. Her breath caught in her throat as Gustave's little hand landed on Erik's disfigured cheek. Erik tensed, his eyes darting between Gustave and Christine.

Gustave giggled.

It had been the first time that someone had ever willingly touched his disfigurement when Christine kissed him when he had Raoul strung up to the portcullis. Now, his own flesh and blood was touching his face without hiding in fear.

"You see. If you hadn't held him, that wouldn't have happened." Christine whispered, afraid to break the moment. Erik looked up at her with tears in his eyes and she laughed joyfully. "Look at you."

Erik chuckled a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. "He doesn't hide in fear. He doesn't scream in horror."

"He is a baby who loves his father."

"Oh, Christine." Erik rocked Gustave in his arms happily. "I'm a father."

"Yes, you are."

Perhaps being a father wouldn't be as difficult as he thought.

~o~

Jane returned to Meg, having left her several hours ago at the terribly kept Inn that they had to scrounge money for to pay for. She shed her cloak, tossing it onto the rickety chair by the door.

"I returned Gustave to his parents." Jane muttered, seeing Meg lying on the bed with Isobel. "How is my little dear?"

"She was fussy the whole time you were gone, I'm certain that she is tired of all this moving about." Meg bit her lip, "Is this what I'm to expect?"

"What do you mean?"

"Fussy baby? Spitting up? Needing the nappy changed?"

"Meg, what do you mean?" Jane sat down on the edge of the bed and tugging her boots off. When Meg didn't answer she glanced over her shoulder to see her face. Meg was pale as a ghost. "Are you-"

"Yes." Meg bit her lip, sitting up on the bed and cradling Isobel. "I think I am. I'm not certain, but it could be expected. I was going to… I'm not sure how to even approach the subject with my mother at the Opera House. Her ballerina daughter turned Vicomte's whore. Kidnapping babies and roaming across the British Isles."

"I'm sure she'll accept you. You are her daughter. If Isobel ever did anything like that, I would still love her." Jane smiled and offered to take Isobel. "We have done one good deed and I'm certain that God will see you through to another."

"I'm afraid that she will be furious. I mean… she nearly always pushed new patrons on to me. I was charming and welcoming. But I doubt that she'll be alright with it being Raoul. Not after _everything_ that happened."

Jane sighed, looking down at Isobel. "She's a scary resemblance to Raoul."

"I know."

"You could lie." Jane looked up.

"What?"

"Lie to your mother about the father. Say that though you left with Raoul you met a kind young man in Bath. Claim that you had a passionate romance, until he was sent away in a skirmish. Say he was an English soldier. Perhaps he died?"

"That's pure fabrication."

"But she doesn't need to know."

"I'm a terrible liar."

Jane shrugged her shoulders, "It's just a theory."

Meg sat up in the bed, glancing towards the window which gave her a distant view of the rebuilding of the main dome of the Opera Populaire. "It's not even repaired yet. I thought it would be all bright and shiny and new now."

"Everything takes time to heal. Meg, if you are pregnant, I can be here for you. Our children will share a common parent."

~o~

**A/N: Well here's my chapter. I'll have you all know you nearly wouldn't have had a post tonight.**

**I almost died, just merely an hour ago. **

**I was returning a cart in a parking lot, walking back towards my car. When suddenly the belt on my dress got hooked to a protruding edge of the car I was passing. Hooked, I stopped, fighting with my tie to get myself loose. **

**As a car sped out of the empty spot mere inches in front of me where I would have been standing. I wouldn't have seen the car as I stepped out in front of the vehicle. **

**I thank God that my guardian angel managed to snag my attention and hold me back. **


End file.
